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^p  William  ^tWitt  ^pKe 

THE  COLLEGE  MAN  AND  THE  COLLEGE 

WOMAN. 
JESUS'  WAY. 
GOD'S  EDUCATION  OF  MAN. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  Nbw  York 


THE   COLLEGE   MAN  AND 
THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN 


THE  COLLEGE    MA^  AKD 
THE   COLLEGE  WOMAl!^ 


BY 


WILLIAM  DeWITT  HYDE 

President  of  Bowdoin  College 


^!53mmsm 


BOSTON    AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT   1906  BY  V'lLLIAM   DEWITT   HYDE 
AJ.I.  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  March  /gob 


ENGLISH 


THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 
WHO  AS  LEGISLATOR,  COMMISSIONER,  SECRETARY 

COLONEL,  AUTHOR,  GOVERNOR 

VICE-PRESIDENT,  PRESIDENT  AND  PEACEMAKER 

HAS  WROUGHT  IN  THE  WORLD 

WHAT  HE  WAS  TAUGHT  IN  COLLEGE 

AND  SHOWN  THE  POWER  FOR  GOOD 

A  COLLEGE  MAN  CAN  BE 


424625 


•  ••••• 


PREFACE 

Now  that  we  have  about  sixty  thousand  men  and 
thirty  thousand  women  in  the  colleges  of  the  United 
States,  the  College  Man  and  the  College  Woman 
deserve  sympathetic  interpretation  and  intelligent 
appreciation.  To  reveal  to  themselves  and  to  the 
world  these  college  men  and  women  as  they  are, 
and  as  they  are  capable  of  becoming,  is  the  purpose 
of  this  book.  It  deals  with  the  personal,  ethical, 
spiritual  side  of  college  life,  and  with  organization 
and  administration  only  incidentally.  It  presents 
as  the  best  spiritual  drink  for  college  youth  a  blend 
of  Greek  sanity  and  Christian  service. 

Nearly  everything  in  it  has  been  presented  to 
college  audiences  at  Harvard,  Yale,  Pennsylvania, 
Syracuse,  Chicago,  Northwestern,  Amherst,  Bow- 
doin,  Dartmouth,  Williams,  Haverford,  Colgate, 
Mount  Holyoke,  Rockford,  Smith,  Vassar,  or 
Wellesley.  Nearly  all  of  it  has  been  printed  in 
"The  Atlantic  Monthly,"  "Scribner's  Magazine," 
"The  Educational  Review,"  "The  International 
Monthly,"  "The  Outlook,"  CroweU's  "What  is 
Worth  While  "  Series,  or  pamphlets  published  by 
colleges  to  which  the  addresses  were  delivered. 
Taken    as   a   whole,  they  represent  what   twenty 


viii  PREFACE 

years  of  life  in  a  college  have  taught  me,  and 
what  I  in  turn  have  tried  to  teach  others,  about 
what  college  students  mean  to  be,  and  what  coUege 
graduates  may  be  expected  to  become.  I  trust  it 
may  assure  over-anxious  parents  that  not  every 
aberration  of  their  sons  and  daughters  while  in 
college  is  either  final  or  fatal ;  persuade  critics  of 
college  administration  that  our  problem  is  not  so 
simple  as  they  seem  to  think  ;  and  inspire  the  pub- 
lic with  the  conviction,  cherished  by  every  college 
officer,  that  college  students,  with  all  their  faults 
and  follies,  are  the  best  fellows  in  the  world  ;  and 
that  notwithstanding  much  crude  speculation  about 
things  human,  and  some  honest  skepticism  concern- 
ing things  divine,  the  great  social  institutions  of 
family  and  industry  and  church  and  state  may  be 
safely  intrusted  to  their  hearts  and  hands. 

The  literary  form  of  the  second  chapter,  though 
unusual,  was  unavoidable.  The  college  undergrad- 
uate is  a  being  of  too  complex  and  swiftly  clianging 
phases  for  external  description  to  catch  and  repro- 
duce. If  he  is  to  be  truthfully  depicted  at  all,  the 
only  way  is  to  place  him  in  intimate  and  confiden- 
tial relations  and  let  him  "give  liimself  away." 

The  one  biographical  chapter  is  introduced  be- 
cause the  office  of  college  president  is  preeminently 
a  personal  office,  and  is  best  described  in  terms  of 
a  life  and  work  which  express  a  personal  character. 

I  have  ventured  to  recognize  the  fact  that  man 


PREFACE  ix 

and  woman  are  not  just  alike,  and  to  suggest  that 
what  God  has  put  asunder  man  cannot  satisfac- 
torily join  together. 

While  I  have  introduced  two  or  three  college 
sermons,  it  will  be  evident  that  the  main  reliance 
of  a  college  for  its  moulding  of  men  and  women  is 
not  preaching  or  exhortation,  still  less  rules  and 
regulations,  least  of  all  threats  and  penalties ;  but 
actual  living,  in  an  atmosphere  of  freedom,  where 
each  person  has  returned  to  him  frankly,  swiftly, 
mercilessly,  the  social  judgment  that  his  acts  invite 
and  his  character  deserves.  The  ethical  and  spir- 
itual fruits  of  a  college  course,  likewise,  are  not  to 
be  measured  mainly  by  verbal  professions  of  piety 
and  virtue,  but  by  those  deep-grooved  sub-conscious 
habits  of  good-fellowship  and  courtesy,  kindliness 
and  courage,  thoroughness  and  patience,  sincerity 
and  sympathy,  serviceableness  and  self-sacrifice, 
which,  whether  in  the  press  of  business  and  the 
clash  of  politics,  or  in  the  quiet  of  home  and  the 
joy  of  the  social  circle,  are  the  marks  of  the  true 
College  Man  and  College  Woman. 

William  DeWitt  Hyde. 

BowDoiN  College, 
Brunswick,  Maine. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    The  Offer   of  the  College      .        .  3 
II.    The  Transformation  of  the  Under- 
graduate    4 

III.  Greek  Qualities  in  the  College  Man  46 

IV.  The  Career  of  Self-Conquest  .        .  81 
V.    The   Continuity    and    Contrast    of 

College  and  the  World     .         .  114 

VL    The  More  Excellent  Way       .        .  129 

VII.    The  Sacrifices  of  a  College  Man  .  150 

VIII.    The  Creed  of  a  College  Class    .  169 

IX.    The  Choice  of  the  College  Woman  175 

X.    The  Worth  of  the  Womanly  Ideal  194 

XI.     The  Earnings  of  College  Graduates  219 

XII.    A  Great  College  President          .  223 

XIII.  The  Personality  of  the  Teacher    .  247 

XIV.  The  Six  Partners   in  College  Ad- 

ministration        ....  275 

I    XV.    The  College 306 

XVI.    Alumni  Ideals        •        •        •        •  332 


THE  COLLEGE   MAN  AND 
THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN 


THE   COLLEGE   MAI^  AXD 
THE   COLLEGE  WOMAN 

I 

The  Offer  of  the  College 

(r  MO  be  at  home  in  all  lands  and  all  ages;  to 
JL  count  Nature  a  familiar  acquaintance,  and 
Art  an  intimate  friend  ;  to  gain  a  standard  for  the 
appreciation  of  other  men's  work  and  the  criticism 
of  your  own ;  to  carry  the  keys  of  the  world's  li- 
brary in  your  pocket,  and  feel  its  resources  behind 
you  in  whatever  task  you  undertake  ;  to  make 
hosts  of  friends  among  the  men  of  your  own  age 
who  are  to  be  leaders  in  all  walks  of  life ;  to  lose 
yourself  in  generous  enthusiasms  and  cooperate 
with  others  for  common  ends;  to  learn  manners 
from  students  who  are  gentlemen,  and  form  char- 
acter under  professors  who  are  Christians,  —  this 
is  the  offer  of  the  college  for  the  best  four  years 
of  your  life. 


V 


'\ 


•      •  •  • 
•  •*   •  I. 


•  • 


n 

The  Transformation  of  the  Undergraduate 

FKESHMAN   SORROWS 

Bbadfobd  College,  October  24, 1901. 

DEAR  Father,  —  Your  letter,  with  welcome 
check  inclosed,  is  at  hand.  I  note  your  ad-, 
vice  to  "  wear  the  same-sized  hat,  and  keep  sawing 
wood ; "  but  really  I  did  n't  need  it,  for  the  Sophs 
attend  to  the  former,  and  the  Profs  provide  for 
the  latter. 

No,  I  am  not  suffering  from  "  swelled  head  "  yet. 
You  know  you  wished  me  to  keep  up  my  music. 
Last  week  a  notice  was  put  up  on  the  bulletin-board, 
inviting  all  candidates  for  the  College  Glee  Club 
to  appear  at  a  certain  room,  at  nine  o'clock  Satur- 
day evening.  Among  the  candidates  who  came  were 
two  other  Freshmen  and  myseK.  They  told  us  that 
we  must  all  put  on  dress  suits,  as  personal  appear- 
ance was  a  large  element  in  fitness  for  the  position. 
As  I  did  not  have  any,  they  lent  me  one,  or  rather 
parts  of  two, — waistcoat  and  trousers  that  were  far 
too  small,  and  a  coat  that  was  miles  t6o  big.  Then 
they  had  us  come  in  and  make  bows,  and  show  how 
we  would  lead  in  a  prima  donna.  Then  they  had 
us  stand  on  our  heels  and  sing  low  notes  ;  stand  on 


THE  TRANSFORMATION  5 

tiptoes  and  sing  high  notes;  sing  everything  we 
knew  from  comic  songs  to  the  doxology  in  long  me- 
tre ;  and  finally,  about  half -past  eleven,  dismissed 
us  with  thie  statement  that  the  other  two  were  the 
better  singers,  but  that  my  presence  and  personal 
appearance  was  greatly  in  my  favor ;  and  that  the 
decision  would  be  announced  on  the  bulletin-board 
the  next  morning.  We  had  not  been  out  of  the 
room  two  minutes  before  we  recognized  that  we  had 
been  awfully  "  taken  in."  I  did  not  sleep  much 
that  night ;  and  whenever  I  fell  into  a  doze,  the 
vision  of  that  bulletin-board  would  dance  before 
my  eyes  and  wake  me  up.  If  ever  I  wished  I  was 
dead  and  buried,  I  did  that  night.  It  seemed  as  if 
I  could  never  get  up  and  go  to  breakfast,  where  they 
would  all  be  talking  about  it,  and  walk  into  chapel 
with  everybody  knowing  what  a  fool  I  had  made  of 
myself  the  night  before.  It  made  me  wish  I  either 
had  taken  my  dose  of  this  sort  of  thing  three  years 
ago  at  a  fitting  school,  or  else  had  gone  to  one  of 
the  great  universities,  where  a  fellow  can  be  simply 
a  unit  in  the  vast  whole,  of  whom  nobody  takes  the 
slightest  notice.  But  you  always  said  that  the  small 
colleges  have  a  great  advantage  over  the  large  ones, 
in  the  fact  that  here  the  individual  is  made  to  be 
somebody,  and  take  the  consequences  of  his  own 
action  upon  his  own  head.  Well,  I  have  made  an 
ass  of  myself  to  begin  with  ;  and  everybody  knows 
it  and  is  guying  me  about  it.    But  I  am  getting 


6  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

used  to  it,  and  don't  mind  it  as  much  as  I  did.  1 
have  had  a  good  many  calls  by  way  of  congratula- 
tion on  my  election  to  the  Glee  Club  ;  and  as  these 
were  the  first  calls  of  persons  I  had  not  had  the 
privilege  of  knowing  before,  it  seemed  appropriate 
(and  I  was  informed  that  it  was  an  established  col- 
lege custom)  that  I  should  treat.  I  think  that  by 
taking  the  thing  good-naturedly,  and  entertaining 
my  guests  handsomely,  I  have  made  more  friends 
than  I  have  lost. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bradford  College,  November  6, 1901. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  You  say  you  are  "  afraid 
I  am  homesick  ;  "  for  I  write  all  "  about  things  at 
home  and  nothing  about  things  here.'*  Well,  I  have 
been  just  a  bit  homesick,  but  I  am  getting  bravely 
over  it.  This  time  I  will  try  to  tell  you  the  things 
you  want  to  know. 

You  need  n't  worry  about  my  clothes ;  they  are 
all  right.  1  tore  a  three-cornered  hole  in  my  trousers 
the  other  day  ;  but  I  fixed  it  up  first-rate.  I  tried 
one  of  those  fine  needles  to  begin  with ;  but  it  was 
no  use.  So  I  fished  out  a  darning-needle,  got  some 
black  linen  thread,  and  went  at  it.  I  took  the  thread 
double  and  twisted,  left  a  long  end  at  the  beginning ; 
sewed  it  over  and  over,  as  you  call  it,  taking  stitches 
about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  apart,  fetched  back  the 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  7 

end  next  to  the  needle  to  the  long  end  I  left  at  the 
beginning,  and  tied  them  together.  Some  Sophs 
made  great  fun  of  it ;  wanted  to  know  if  I  was 
trying  to  demonstrate  the  pons  asinorum  on  my 
trousers  leg.  That  night  I  ripped  up  the  whole 
seam,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  I  had  made,  turned 
the  trousers  wrong  side  out ;  proceeded  as  before 
except  that  I  took  stitches  only  half  as  big ;  tied 
the  ends  on  the  inside  where  they  don't  show  ;  and 
the  trousers  look  as  good  as  ever. 

You  ask  particularly  about  my  religious  life.  I 
don't  know  what  to  say.  The  first  morning  I  went 
to  chapel,  some  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  usher 
asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  rent  a  sitting.  I  was 
fool  enough  to  give  liim  a  dollar  for  a  seat ;  and 
then  he  ushered  me  into  a  pew  at  one  side  near 
the  front  which  is  reserved  for  the  Faculty.  I  tell 
you  I  didn't  feel  much  like  praying  that  morn- 
ing. 

The  first  really  familiar  and  home-like  thing  I 
found  when  I  came  here  was  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  re- 
ception to  the  Freshmen.  A  large  number  of  the 
students  and  several  of  the  Faculty  were  present. 
There  were  a  few  addresses  of  an  informal  nature 
by  the  professors.  Then  we  sang  hymns,  and  re- 
freshments were  served.  I  got  acquainted  with  three 
of  the  professors,  to  one  of  whom  I  recite  ;  and 
the  whole  affair  went  a  long  way  toward  making 
me  feel  at  home  here. 


8  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

As  for  the  meetings  :  well,  I  go  to  them  regu- 
larly. I  camiot  say  I  altogether  enjoy  them.  Some 
of  the  fellows  have  such  wonderful  experiences  of 
grace,  that  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  I 
never  had  anything  of  the  kind.  If  that  is  essen- 
tial to  a  man's  being  a  Christian  —  why,  I  simply 
am  not  in  it.  I  can't  conceive  of  myseK  as  feeling 
like  that.  I  don't  see  the  sense  of  it.  It  does  n't 
seem  natural.  I  want  to  do  right.  I  know  I  do 
wrong,  —  I  know  I  need  to  be  turned  right  about 
face  once  in  so  often,  or  else  I  should  go  straight 
down  hiU.  And  I  am  glad  to  spend  an  hour  each 
week  with  the  fellows  who  are  trying  to  get  a  brace 
in  the  same  direction. 

To  tell  the  truth  I  don't  get  much  out  of  church 
here.  The  ministers  are  smart  enough,  and  they 
roll  out  great  glowing  periods.  But  when  they  are 
through  I  cannot  tell  for  the  life  of  me  what  they 
have  been  driving  at.  You  hear  a  lot  about  jus- 
tification, sanctification,  and  atonement ;  and  then 
you  hear  a  lot  about  Phrygia,  Pamphylia,  and  Mes- 
opotamia. Once  in  a  while  there  comes  along  a 
man  who  seems  to  understand  us.  He  wiU  throw 
out  some  practical  and  moral  problem  that  we  are 
grappling  with  ;  pile  up  the  arguments  in  favor 
of  the  indulgence  just  as  they  pile  up  in  our  own 
minds  ;  and  then  turn  around,  knock  them  all  to 
splinters,  and  show  how  much  more  noble  and 
manly  it  is  to  overcome  temptation  ;  and  show  us 


OF  THE   UNDERGRADUATE  9 

Christ  as  the  great  champion  in  the  moral  and 
spiritual  warfare  of  the  world. 

It  is  a  good  deal  harder  to  be  a  Christian  here 
in  college  than  it  was  at  home,  and  the  things  that 
ought  to  be  a  help  seem  to  be  a  hindrance.  I  ex- 
pect to  have  rather  a  sorry  time  of  it  here  for  a 
while;  but  by  far  the  greatest  of  my  sorrows  is 
that  I  have  not  been  more  faithfully, 

Your  dutiful  and  grateful  boy, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bradfobd  College,  May  30,  1902. 
Dear  Helen,  —  I  wonder  if  time  flies  as 
swiftly  with  you  Willoughby  CoUege  girls  as  with 
us  ?  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  we  were  gliding 
along  together  to  the  music  of  the  merry  sleigh- 
beUs  over  the  glistening  snow.  Of  course  you  have 
your  good  times  there.  Your  afternoon  teas  ten- 
dered by  Sophomores  to  Freshmen ;  your  debates 
in  the  gymnasium  on  municipal  suffrage  for  women  ; 
your  Halloween  frolics  ;  your  basket-ball  contests ; 
your  boat-races  rowed  for  form  only  ;  your  midnight 
lunches  interrupted  by  "  the  Pestilence  that  walketh 
in  darkness  "  —  that  nickname  of  yours  for  a  med- 
dlesome Prof,  beats  the  record  —  are  all  very  de- 
lightful as  portrayed  in  your  charming  letters  ;  but 
compared  with  foot-ball  and  base-ball,  boxing  and 
fencing,  rushes  and  tugs-of-war,  turkey  suppers  on 
the  Faculty  table  with  any  one  of  three  parties, 


10  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

the  owner  of  the  turkeys,  the  college  authorities,  or 
the  upper-classmen,  liable  to  swoop  down  on  you  at 
any  moment  and  gobble  up  the  feast,  I  must  con- 
fess that  your  worst  dissipations  seem  a  little  tame. 

I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  you  make  up  in 
study  what  is  lacking  in  sport.  I  have  n't  seen  any- 
body here  quite  so  completely  carried  away  with 
Sophocles,  or  so  in  love  with  the  Odes  of  Horace, 
or  so  fascinated  with  German  syntax  as  you  seem 
to  be.  Your  lamentations  over  spherical  trigonome- 
try, however,  would  evoke  many  a  responsive  moan. 
That  was  really  credible  from  a  college  man's  point 
of  view ;  but  if  I  were  not  so  sure  of  your  thorough 
genuineness  and  sincerity,  I  should  set  down  those 
raptures  about  philologies  and  trilogies  either  to 
satire  or  to  affectation.  We  men  are  not  taken 
that  way.  I  am  glad  you  like  them,  though.  To 
see  a  little  gleam  of  sense,  real  or  imaginary, 
through  the  interminable  technical  jargon  a  fellow 
has  to  grind  out,  must  be  a  relief.  I  am  heartily 
glad  for  you  if  the  gods  have  granted  you  such  a 
special  dispensation. 

I  must  confess,  though,  that  I  am  beginning  to 
get  a  real  hold  of  Greek.  Professor  Bird  has  us 
read  the  whole  of  an  author  in  translation ;  write 
essays  on  the  times,  characters,  customs,  and  insti- 
tutions ;  and  then  read  in  the  original  such  pas- 
sages as  are  specially  significant  in  throwing  light 
on  the  main  characters  and  events.    We  get  the 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  11 

life  first  in  this  way ;  and  the  letters  afterward  as 
the  expression  of  that  life.  Then,  too,  he  shows 
pictures  of  Greek  architecture  and  art  with  the 
stereopticon  in  the  evening ;  tells  us  the  story  of 
the  statues  of  which  we  have  casts  in  the  Art  Build- 
ing, and  of  the  coins  and  vases  in  the  cases  there. 
Life  is  interesting  in  all  its  forms  ;  and  it  is  slowly 
dawning  upon  me  that  these  old  fellows  lived  about 
the  gayest,  freest,  loveliest  life  men  ever  lived  on 
earth.  But  from  the  way  Greek  was  ground  out  in 
the  high  school  one  would  never  have  dreamed  the 
old  dry  roots  once  had  such  sweet  juice  in  them. 
,And  some  of  the  other  languages  here  are  taught 
by  young  fellows  fresh  from  German,  or  German- 
American  institutions,  who  regard  the  text,  even 
of  Horace  or  Goethe  or  Moliere,  as  just  so  much 
grammatical  straw  to  thrash  the  syntax  out  of. 
When  I  see  what  Greek  is,  and  what  the  other 
languages  and  literatures  might  be  if  only  we  had 
a  man  and  not  a  thesis  in  cap  and  gown  to  teach 
them,  it  makes  me  mad.  And  yet  you  girls  fall 
down  and  worship  just  that  sort  of  a  creature ! 

Boys  and  girls  make  very  different  kinds  of  stu- 
dents. I  think  we  get  along  better  apart  than  to- 
gether. You  are  docile,  conscientious,  and  at  least 
outwardly  courteous.  You  eat  whatever  is  set  be- 
fore you,  asking  no  questions  for  conscience's  sake. 
You  study  just  as  hard  whether  you  like  a  subject 
or  not.   You  do  your  best  every  time. 


12  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

Now  that  is  very  sweet  and  lovely.  But  I  should 
think  it  would  spoil  your  teachers  to  treat  them 
that  way.  With  us  it  is  different.  If  we  don't  like 
a  thing,  we  say  so.  As  for  these  feUows  that  try 
to  cram  their  old  philology  down  our  throats,  we 
make  their  existence  pretty  uncomfortable.  The 
other  day  the  Latin  tutor  asked  a  f  eUow  the  gender 
of  onum^  and  he  answered,  "  You  can't  tell  until 
it 's  hatched."  They  won't  teach  us  anything  we 
want  to  know,  and  so  we  won't  learn  anything 
they  want  to  teach.  We  keep  asking  the  same 
old  question  over  and  over  again ;  and  make  him 
explain  the  simplest  of  all  his  favorite  fine  dis- 
tinctions every  time  it  occurs.  Well,  I  must  stop 
somewhere.  I  really  did  not  know  I  was  so  inter- 
ested in  my  studies,  or  had  so  many  theories  of 
education.  You  always  understand  me  better  than 
anybody  else  does.  When  I  began  this  letter,  I 
did  n't  think  I  cared  much  about  these  things  any- 
way. But  you  are  so  in  earnest  about  them,  that 
I  believe  I  have  caught  the  inspiration.  I  am  a 
many-sided  being ;  some  sides  are  good  and  some  are 
bad ;  some  are  wise  and  some  are  very  foohsh.  You 
always  bring  out  the  best  side ;  and  for  fear  of  de- 
ceiving you  and  making  you  think  I  am  better  than 
I  really  am,  I  have  to  let  you  inside,  and  show  you 
just  how  foolish  and  light-minded  I  am.  If  I  al- 
ways had  you  to  talk  to,  I  think  I  should  be  a  very 
much  more  diligent  student  than  I  am.   Not  that  I 


OF  THE   UNDERGRADUATE  13 

crave  coeducation.  Oh,  no !  What  Emerson  says 
of  friendship  is  especially  true  of  the  friendship  of 
college  boys  and  girls :  "  The  condition  which  high 
friendship  demands  is  ability  to  do  without  it. 
There  must  be  very  two,  before  there  can  be  very 
one.  Let  us  buy  our  entrance  to  this  guild  by  a 
long  probation."  I  wish  you  would  read  the  whole 
essay.  I  am  immensely  fond  of  it ;  and  I  always 
think  of  you  when  I  read  it.  The  two  writers  I 
love  best  are  Carlyle  and  Emerson;  although  I 
don't  profess  to  understand  much  of  either  of  them. 
Carlyle  braces  me  up  when  I  am  tempted  to  loaf 
and  shirk.  Emerson  tones  me  down  when  I  am 
tempted  to  pretense  and  insincerity.  Both  tend  to 
make  me  more  simple  and  true  and  real  —  more 
like  what  you  are  and  what  I  fondly  fancy  you 
would  like  to  have  me  be. 

Your  faithful  friend, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

sophomore  conceits 

Bradford  College,  October  25,  1902. 

Dear  Father,  —  Now  that  it  is  all  over,  I  sup- 
pose I  may  as  well  teU  you  about  it.  Perhaps  you 
saw  in  the  "  Herald  "  that  we  came  near  having  a 
class  rebellion  here  yesterday. 

Two  or  three  of  us  ventured  to  wear,  into  Pro- 
fessor Bird's  recitation-room  the  other  morning, 
some  vestiges  of  the  attire  which  had  done  duty  in 


14  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

a  parade  the  previous  evening.  Professor  Bird  said 
that  if  we  wished  to  make  fools  of  ourselves  on  the 
public  streets  he,  as  an  individual,  had  nothing  to 
say  about  it;  but  that  when  it  came  to  bringing 
such  nonsense  into  his  recitation- room  he  would  not 
stand  it,  and  we  might  leave  the  room  at  once. 

Immediately  after  recitation  the  class  held  a 
rousing  indignation  meeting  in  Old  College  Hall, 
and  passed  the  following  resolutions :  "  That  we, 
the  members  of  the  Class  of  1905,  most  emphati- 
cally and  indignantly  protest  against  this  act  of 
tyranny  and  usurpation ;  and  that  we  will  attend 
no  more  college  exercises  until  this  wrong  shall  be 
redressed.'* 

As  I  was  one  of  the  persons  especially  aggrieved 
I  was  made  chairman  of  a  committee  of  three,  which 
was  appointed  to  wait  upon,  the  president  and  pre- 
sent our  resolutions. 

He  listened  very  respectfully  to  our  representa- 
tions. When  we  had  finished  he  said  that  there 
seemed  to  be  a  hopeless  division  of  opinion  on  the 
subject,  —  the  faculty  being  firmly  and  finally  com- 
mitted to  the  position  taken  by  Professor  Bird, 
and  the  class  being  equally  tenacious  of  the  posi- 
tion taken  in  the  resolutions.  Accordingly,  he  pro- 
posed that  we  should  refer  the  whole  subject  to  a 
committee  of  three  alumni,  of  whom  the  class  should 
name  one,  the  president  should  name  one,  and  the 
two  thus  appointed  should  name  the  third. 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  15 

The  class,  after  some  discussion,  voted  to  accept 
the  president's  proposition ;  and  we  appointed  as 
our  representative  on  this  committee  a  young  grad- 
uate of  the  previous  year  who  had  been  a  leader  in 
all  manner  of  deviltry  while  he  was  in  college,  and 
is  hanging  around  the  college  this  year  as  a  self- 
appointed  coach  of  the  foot-ball  team  until  he  can 
find  something  to  do.  We  went  back  and  reported 
that  we  had  accepted  his  proposition,  and  named 
our  referee.  The  president  then  gravely  announced 
that  he  had  selected  you  as  his  representative  on 
the  committee  to  which  the  matter  should  be  re- 
ferred ;  that  he  would  telegraph  for  you  at  once ; 
and  that  he  should  expect  me  and  the  others  inter- 
ested to  appear  before  the  committee  in  tlie  precise 
apparel  which  had  been  the  occasion  of  the  con- 
troversy. 

You  can  imagine  that  I  was  a  good  deal  taken 
back.  I  did  not  relish  having  you  called  down  here 
from  your  business,  two  hundred  miles,  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  that  question.  I  thought  I  could  an- 
ticipate the  decision  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
would  be  delivered.  So  I  persuaded  the  class  to 
drop  the  matter,  and  we  have  resumed  attendance 
at  recitations. 

I  give  you  the  full  account.  This  is  all  there  is  in 
it.  The  reporters  got  hold  of  it  and  have  written 
it  up  with  a  great  deal  of  exaggeration  and  embel- 
lishment.   So  if  you  read  my  name  or  see  my  photo- 


16  THE   TRANSFORMATION 

graph  in  connection  with  the  instigation  of  a  great 
rebellion,  don't  be  disturbed,  and  tell  mother  not  to 
worry.  Your  affectionate  son, 

Clarence. 

Bradford  College,  November  30, 1902. 

My  dear  Helen, — The  foot-ball  season  is  over, 
and  I  must  tell  you  about  it.  As  you  know,  we  won 
the  championship  ;  and  I  happened  to  play  quite  an 
important  part  in  it.  The  opposing  team  was  made 
up  of  great  giants  from  the  farms ;  while  our  team 
were  mostly  light  city  boys,  quick  as  lightning,  and 
up  to  all  the  tricks  and  fine  points.  Their  game 
was  to  mass  themselves  on  one  weak  point  in  the 
line,  and  pound  away  at  that  time  after  time.  In 
spite  of  all  that  we  could  do  they  would  gain  a  few 
feet  each  time ;  and  it  looked  as  though  they  would 
win  by  steadily  shoving  us  inch  by  inch  down  the 
field.  When  they  had  it  almost  over,  we  made  a 
great  brace  and  held  them  and  got  the  ball. 

Then  we  made  a  long  gain,  bringing  the  ball 
within  forty  yards  of  their  goal.  The  time  was 
nearly  up ;  and  if  we  had  lost  it  again,  the  game 
would  have  been  either  a  tie  or  a  defeat.  As  a 
last  resort,  the  signal  was  given  for  a  goal  from  the 
field.  The  ball  was  passed  to  me :  I  had  just  time 
for  a  drop  kick  in  the  general  direction  of  the  goal, 
without  an  instant  for  taking  aim,  when  their  big- 
gest man  came  down  on  me;  and   that   was   the 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  17 

last  I  can  remember.  As  all  my  force  had  gone 
into  the  kick,  and  I  was  standing  still  and  had 
almost  lost  my  balance  ia  the  act  of  kicking ;  while 
he  weighed  seventy  pounds  more  than  I,  and  was 
coming  at  full  speed,  you  can  imagine  that  I  went 
down  with  a  good  deal  of  force  onto  the  frozen 
ground. 

The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  in  my  room,  and  the 
doctor  was  working  over  me.  To  my  first  question, 
"  Was  it  a  goal  ?  "  the  Captain  replied,  "  Yes,  old 
man,  you  won  the  game  for  us."  My  injury  proved 
to  be  nothing  serious  ;  and  a  few  stitches  in  a  scalp 
wound  was  all  the  medical  treatment  necessary. 
By  the  way,  don't  mention  this  part  of  the  affair 
around  home,  where  the  folks  will  be  likely  to 
hear  of  it.  They  would  worry,  and  that  would  do 
no  good.  I  was  at  some  loss  how  to  charge  up  the 
doctor's  bni  on  my  cash  account;  but  in  view  of 
the  stitches,  I  charged  it  to  "sewing."  I  am  just 
having  a  glorious  time  of  it  this  year.  There  are 
lots  of  foolish  girls  here,  as  there  are  everywhere ; 
and  I  don't  see  why  a  fellow  should  not  have  some 
fun  with  them.  My  foot-ball  prowess  has  opened 
the  doors  of  all  the  best  society  to  me ;  and  I  am 
lionized  wherever  I  go.  I  can  take  my  pick  of  the 
girls;  and  I  get  along  with  them  first-rate.  They 
talk  foot-ball  as  soon  as  they  are  introduced ;  and 
that  is  a  subject  on  which  I  feel  perfectly  at  home. 
There  are  half  a  dozen  on  whom  I  have  made  a 


18  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

perfect  masli ;  and  perhaps  I  ought  to  confess  that 
there  is  one  in  particular  toward  whom  I  am  in- 
clined to  reciprocate.  She  is  a  little  older  than  I 
(some  of  the  fellows  who  are  jealous  of  me  call 
her  the  coUege  widow),  but  with  shrugging  of  her 
shoulders  and  elevating  her  eyes  when  one  makes 
a  particularly  piquant  remark,  she  is  young  enough 
in  her  manner.  We  led  the  dance  the  other  evening, 
and  it  was  great  fun  to  see  the  fellows  green  with 
envy,  and  the  longing  looks  of  more  than  one  girl 
whose  eyes  as  much  as  said,  "Oh,  if  I  were  only 
where  that  girl  is." 

I  was  considerably  amused  at  the  account  you 
gave  of  your  harmless  serenade  under  the  windows 
of  the  obstreperous  Miss  K. ;  but  I  was  disgusted 
at  the  specimen  of  petticoat  government  that  fol- 
lowed. How  perfectly  absurd  to  scold  a  set  of 
such  innocent  and  guileless  creatures,  who  never 
entertained  so  much  as  a  shadow  of  a  naughty 
thought  in  all  your  lives  ! 

Our  dean  would  n't  have  made  such  a  fuss  over  a 
little  thing  like  that.  Let  me  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened here  the  other  night.  We  have  an  instruc- 
tor whom  we  hate.  I  don't  know  just  why.  He  is 
a  wooden  fellow.  He  tries  to  apply  high-school 
methods  of  discipline  and  instruction  to  coUege 
men !  Just  think  of  it !  We  don't  propose  to  stand 
it.  So  we  "fixed"  his  recitation-room  the  other 
night,  and  among  other  things  propped  up  the 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  19 

skeleton  from  the  Medical  School  in  his  chair,  and 
put  between  his  teeth  strips  of  paper  on  which  the 
instructor's  oft-recurring  phrases  were  inscribed. 
I  was  in  it.  The  dean  got  onto  it,  and  I  was  sum- 
moned to  his  office.  I  expected  I  should  catch  it, 
and  wds  making  arrangements  to  leave  town  on 
an  early  train. 

The  dean,  however,  did  not  refer  to  the  affair 
once.  He  said  that  he  was  afraid  that  I  was  not 
giving  to  my  studies  the  undivided  attention  that 
they  deserved,  and  asked  what  was  the  trouble. 
We  talked  over  my  plans  and  purposes  in  so  far 
as  I  have  any ;  and  then  he  tried  to  show  me  how 
these  studies  in  general,  and  the  one  which  is  taught 
in  that  room  in  particular,  have  a  vital  relation  to  my 
whole  intellectual  future.  I  never  realized  before 
how  hard  the  college  is  trying,  with  very  scanty  re- 
sources, to  provide  for  us  a  satisfactory  course,  or 
how  interested  in  our  individual  welfare  the  officers 
of  it  are.  I  came  away  with  a  very  much  better 
understanding  of  what  I  am  here  for.  I  had  a  very 
pleasant  interview,  and  was  almost  glad  to  have  had 
it ;  though  after  the  tacit  understanding  to  which 
we  came,  it  would  be  fearfully  embarassing  to  have 
another  based  on  a  similar  offense.  I  shall  give  the 
college  no  further  trouble  along  that  line,  I  assure 
you. 

Now,  was  not  this  masculine  mode  of  discipline 
better  than  yours?   Women  seem  to  read  their 


20  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

Scriptures  to  the  effect  that  without  shedding  of 
tears,  there  shall  be  no  remission  of  mischief.  We 
men  don't  take  much  stock  in  tears.  And  such 
tear-provoking  talk  as  seems  to  be  so  efficacious 
with  you  girls  would  run  off  from  our  toughened 
consciences  like  water  off  a  duck's  back. 

Now,  my  dear  Helen,  if  I  seem  to  hold  women 
in  general,  and  women's  ways  of  doing  things,  in 
somewhat  light  esteem,  you  know  I  regard  you  as  a 
shining  exception ;  and  think  whatever  you  do  is 
perfect ;  and  know  you  must  have  looked  perfectly 
lovely  even  in  those  absurd  and  wasted  tears. 
Faithfully  your  friend, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bbadfobd  College,  April  8, 1903. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  That  is  just  like  you, 
mother,  "  to  look  with  more  favor  on  my  friendship 
for  Helen  than  on  my  passion  for  Kate,"  or  the 
"coUege  widow,"  as  you  hatefully  insist  on  calling 
her.  You  are  a  woman,  and  you  can't  see  things 
as  I  do.  Why,  Kate  just  adores  me ;  idolizes  me ; 
says  that  in  all  the  history  of  the  college  there 
never  was  a  fellow  quite  like  me.  Now,  that  is  the 
sort  of  a  girl  for  me.  She  makes  me  feel  satisfied 
with  myself.    And  she  is  pretty  and  fascinating. 

As  for  Helen,  what  do  you  think  she  had  the 
impertinence  to  write  to  me?  I  had  written  her  a 
nice  letter,  in  which,  to  be  sure,  I  made  one  or  two 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  21 

slighting  and  patronizing  references  to  women  in 
general  and  petticoat  government  for  colleges  in 
particular,  and  this  is  what  I  got :  — 

"  You  HORRID,  CONCEITED  THING, No,  thank 

you.  If  you  cannot  respect  my  sex,  and  speak  re- 
spectfully of  my  college,  please  pay  no  more  of 
your  silly  compliments  to  a  '  shining  exception.' 

"  P.  S.  If  in  addition  to  the  fact  of  feminine  fool- 
ishness, of  which  you  are  so  well  assured,  you  wish 
to  continue  your  studies  into  the  philosophy  of  the 
phenomenon,  and  in  spite  of  her  being  a  woman 
will  for  once  consult  the  world's  greatest  novelist 
(perhaps  you  can  bring  yourself  to  it,  in  view  of 
her  masculine  pseudonym),  you  are  most  respect- 
fully referred  to  a  remark  of  Mrs.  Poyser  on  the 
subject." 

Now,  you  surely  don't  suppose  a  college  Sopho- 
more is  going  to  stand  such  talk  as  that.  The 
remark  referred  to  is,  "I  'm  not  denyin'  that 
women  are  foolish;  God  Almighty  made  'em  to 
match  the  men." 

I  have  had  enough  of  Helen.  What  a  fellow 
wants  of  a  girl  is  some  one  to  reflect  with  a  halo 
of  sympathy  and  admiration  his  own  views  and 
opinions.  He  does  n't  want  to  be  stirred  up  and 
set  to  thinking.  Now,  you  know  I  want  to  please 
you  in  everything.  But  in  these  matters  you  must 
admit  that  I  am  a  more  competent  judge  of  what 
suits  me  than  anybody  else  can  be  for  me.    I 


22  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

always  respected  Helen,  and  do  still.  But  fop 
real  solid  happiness  all  to  ourselves,  give  me  Kate 
every  time.  So  don't  worry.  Mother.  It  will  all 
come  out  right  in  the  end,  and  you  will  come  to 
see  these  things  as  I  do. 

As  for  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  that  sort  of  thing 
which  you  inquire  about,  to  tell  the  truth  I  have  n't 
been  much  lately.  Between  foot-ball  and  society 
my  time  has  been  pretty  well  taken  up.  I  believe 
in  having  a  good  time,  and  letting  everybody  else 
have  the  same  ;  I  believe  in  father's  version  of  the 
Golden  Rule,  which  is,  you  know,  "  Do  to  others 
as  you  think  they  would  do  to  you  if  they  had  a 
chance."  I  don't  see  why  we  should  try  to  cast  our 
lives  in  the  narrow  and  contracted  grooves  marked 
out  for  us  in  primitive  times,  when  the  world  was 
just  emerging  from  barbarism. 

I  recognize,  of  course,  that  life,  like  every  game, 
has  its  rules,  which  you  must  obey  if  you  want  to 
get  any  fun  out  of  it.  But  it  strikes  me  that  for 
the  rules  of  life  you  must  go  to  the  men  who  have 
studied  life  from  its  first  beginnings  in  plant  and 
animal  up  to  its  latest  development  in  the  modern 
man.  Mill  and  Spencer,  Huxley  and  Tyndall, 
ought  to  be  better  authorities  on  the  rules  of  this 
game  than  the  ingenious  priests  who  relieved  the 
monotony  of  exile  by  drawing  up  an  ideal  code  and 
attributing  it  to  Moses  ;  men  on  whose  minds  the 
first  principles  of  the  synthetic  philosophy  had  never 


OP  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  23 

dawned,  and  who  had  no  more  conception  of  the 
conditions  which  evolution  has  brought  about  in  our 
day  than  the  man  in  the  moon. 

Now,  I  mean  to  do  my  best,  as  soon  as  I  get 
time,  to  find  out  what  the  rules  of  life  are  accord- 
ing to  the  most  approved  modern  authorities  ;  and 
then  to  play  the  game  of  life  as  I  do  the  game  of 
foot-ball,  fair  and  hard.  I  shall  never  cheat,  never 
shirk,  never  be  afraid.  There 's  my  creed  up  to 
date.  If  there  are  any  other  rules  delivered  by 
competent  authority,  and  accepted  by  all  players  of 
good  standing,  I  shall  obey  them  too. 

So  don't  be  anxious  about  my  religious  condition. 
If  you  don't  like  my  creed,  my  practice  is  aU  right. 
I  have  n't  done  anything  I  would  be  ashamed  to 
have  you  know;  except  a  little  foolishness  that 
does  n't  amount  to  anything,  and  is  n't  worth  men- 
tioning. And  as  long  as  I  honestly  try  to  do  as 
you  would  have  me,  I  can't  go  far  astray. 
Your  affectionate 

Clarence. 

junior  misgivings 

Bbadfobd  Oollboe,  October  14,  1903. 
My  dear  Mother, —  Well,  you  were  right,  after 
all.  My  affair  with  Kate  is  off ;  and  my  only  re- 
gret is  that  it  was  ever  on.  She  is  a  sweet  crea- 
ture, and  I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  her  pain.  But 
she  is  light-hearted,  and  she  will  soon  get  over  it* 


24  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

She  was  in  love  with  being  in  love,  in  love  with 
the  good  times  I  gave  her,  never  in  love  with  me. 
We  never  really  cared  for  the  same  things.  That 
whirl  of  gayety  she  likes  to  live  in  would  be  fear- 
fully sickening  to  me  if  I  had  to  have  it  long.  We 
were  not  happy  together,  unless  we  were  going 
somewhere,  or  had  some  excitement  or  other  on 
hand.    She  will  not  long  remain  inconsolable. 

Of  course  I  shall  come  in  for  a  liberal  amount 
of  criticism  at  the  sewing  circles  and  afternoon  teas, 
and  the  women's  club.  I  know  I  have  done  wrong, 
but  I  did  n't  mean  to.  And  reaUy  it  is  n't  as  bad  as 
it  looks.  We  never  were  engaged,  though  people 
may  have  thought  we  were.  That  I  have  made  the 
biggest  kind  of  a  fool  of  myself,  I  must  of  course 
acknowledge. 

One  thing  is  sure.  I  shall  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  young  ladies.  I  am  going  to  give  my  en- 
tire attention  to  my  studies.  The  great  economic 
and  social  questions  that  are  pressing  for  solution 
demand  the  undivided  attention  of  every  serious 
man.  I  am  coming  to  feel  more  and  more  as  though 
my  mission  in  life  might  lie  in  that  direction.  Once 
in  the  thick  of  the  fight  for  economic  justice  and 
social  equality,  I  shall  have  little  time  to  think  of 
private  domestic  happiness.  I  shall  never  marry. 
AH  petty  personal  pleasures  must  be  cast  aside  as 
cumbersome  impediments  by  one  who  wiU  serve 
the  cause  of  the  poor  and  the  oppressed.   You,  dear 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  25 

Mother,  -will  be  henceforth  my  only  feminine  con- 
fidant and  counselor. 

As  for  those  religious  matters  which  seem  to  be 
your  main  concern,  I  am  afraid  I  can't  give  you 
much  satisfaction.  I  have  discovered  that  the  rules 
of  the  great  game  of  life  are  not  so  simple  as  I  at 
first  supposed.  I  see  at  last  what  you  mean  by  your 
doctrine  of  self-sacrifice.  In  base-ball  we  often  have 
to  make  what  we  call  a  sacrifice  hit,  which  brings 
in  another  runner  while  the  batter  himself  gets  put 
out.  Then,  too,  the  question  sometimes  comes  up 
whether  to  try  for  a  very  hard  ball,  and  take  ten 
chances  to  one  of  making  an  error  and  spoiling 
your  individual  record ;  or  only  pretend  to  try  and 
miss  it,  and  so  save  your  individual  record  at  the 
expense  perhaps  of  losing  the  game.  Essentially 
the  same  principle  comes  out  in  all  our  games.  In 
hare  and  hounds  the  hares  run  over  the  most  diffi- 
cult and  devious  course  they  can  find,  dropping 
pieces  of  paper  behind  them  at  intervals  for  scent. 
Then  the  hounds  come  after  them  on  this  trail.  All 
goes  weU  as  long  as  the  trail  is  clear  and  the  scent 
is  good.  Then  we  come  to  a  point  where  all  scent 
stops.  Then  the  lazy  shirks  sit  down  and  wait,  while 
the  energetic  fellows  strike  out  in  all  directions, 
until  one  of  them  finds  the  trail.  He  shouts  to  the 
others,  and  they  aU  follow  him.  Now,  this  willing- 
ness to  strike  out  and  help  find  the  trail  for  the 
rest,  instead  of  sitting  down  and  resting  and  letting 


26  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

some  one  else  do  it,  is,  I  suppose,  what  you  mean 
by  self-sacrifice.  Now,  I  accept  all  that.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  sacrifices  demanded  in  real  life 
are  not  stereotyped,  cut-and-dried  forms  of  tradi- 
tional self-denial.  Life  is  just  like  the  game.  So- 
ciety is  all  the  time  being  brought  up  short  at  places 
where  it  is  impossible  to  tell  which  of  several  pos- 
sible courses  it  is  best  to  pursue.  Then  we  need 
men  who  are  not  afraid  to  strike  out  and  find  a  way, 
where  no  sure  way  appears.  Then  we  need  men 
who  have  the  courage  to  make  necessary  mistakes. 

Now,  this  willingness  to  take  on  one's  self  the 
risk  and  responsibilities  of  leadership  in  matters 
which  are  still  imcertain  seems  to  me  to  be  the  very 
essence  of  the  heroism  modern  society  requires.  If 
there  is  any  type  of  men  I  hate,  it  is  the  stupid,  timid 
conservatives,  who  stand  still  or  turn  back  whenever 
they  come  to  a  novel  problem  or  a  hard  place ;  and 
then  boast  that  they  never  go  astray.  Of  course 
they  don't.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  they  never  help 
anybody  to  find  the  way ;  they  are  not  leaders. 

Now,  I  gladly  admit  that  Jesus  taught  the  world 
once  for  all  the  great  lesson  of  this  self-devotion 
of  the  individual  to  the  service  of  society.  While 
others  had  anticipated  special  aspects  and  applicar 
tions  of  this  principle,  he  made  it  central  and  su- 
preme. In  doing  so  he  became  the  Lord  and  Mas- 
ter of  all  who  are  willing  to  become  humble  servants 
of  their  fellow-men.    1  acknowledge  him  as  my  Lord 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  27 

and  Master  ;  and  that,  too^  in  a  much  prof ounder 
sense  than  I  ever  supposed  the  words  could  mean. 
I  do  not,  however,  find  much  of  this  which  I  regard 
as  the  essence  of  Christ's  teaching  and  spirit,  either 
in  traditional  theology  or  conventional  Christianity. 
Orthodox  theology  seems  to  have  been  built  up 
around  the  idea  of  saving  the  merely  individual 
soul,  while  Christ's  prime  concern  was  to  show  men 
how  to  lose  that  selfish  sort  of  soul. 

In  short,  I  propose  to  tackle  the  most  pressing 
problem  of  the  present  day,  that  of  the  just  dis- 
tribution of  the  products  of  human  toil ;  and  I  pro- 
pose to  give  my  time  and  talents  and  to  throw  away 
my  wealth  and  position,  for  the  sake  of  contribut- 
ing what  I  can  to  its  solution.  That  is  what,  as  I 
conceive  it,  Jesus  would  do  were  he  in  my  place 
to-day.  Now,  if  leaving  all  and  following  Jesus  is 
Christianity,  I  am  and  mean  to  be  a  Christian.  But 
if  you  insist  on  the  ecclesiastical  definition  of  the 
term,  then  I  am  not  a  Christian,  and  probably  never 
shall  be.  Whatever  I  am,  I  shall  always  be 
Your  obedient  and  devoted  son, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bradfobd  College,  January  26,  1904. 
My  dear  Nellie,  —  So  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  to  go  into  a  college  settlement.    Well,  I  con- 
gratulate you.    Still,  I  don't  quite  like  it.    To  be 
sure,  it  is  a  good  thing  in  itself,  but  it  does  n't  seem 


28  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

to  me  tliat  it  is  the  best  thing  for  you.  If  I  had 
the  disposition  of  your  fate  I  think  I  could  find 
something  better  than  that  for  you.  With  your 
gentle,  sensitive  nature,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  you  were  better  fitted  to  make  some  one  man 
happy  and  some  one  home  sweet  and  beautiful  than 
to  go  into  the  wholesale  benevolent  business.  How- 
ever, I  ought  not  to  find  fault,  for  I  am  thinking 
seriously  of  doing  something  very  much  like  that 
myself.  Instead  of  trying  to  relieve  here  and  there 
a  few  cases  of  misery  and  degradation,  as  promis- 
cuous  charity  tries  to  do,  and  instead  of  trying  to 
elevate  the  tone  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  plague 
spot  in  the  social  system,  as  the  settlement  does, 
I  mean  to  strike  at  the  root  of  the  whole  evil  and 
try  to  remove  the  causes  of  which  all  these  notori- 
ous evils  you  refer  to  are  the  corollaries  and  effects. 

In  other  words,  I  intend  to  devote  my  life  to  the 
cause  of  labor,  and  to  the  prosecution  of  such  re- 
forms as  may  be  necessary  to  secure  for  labor  its 
just  share  of  the  wealth  which  it  produces. 

I  will  not  weary  you  with  a  lengthy  account  of 
all  the  details  of  my  programme.  In  fact,  they  are 
not  very  clear  in  my  own  mind  yet. 

I  have  expected  to  find  myself  a  lonely  and  re- 
jected social  outcast  in  consequence  of  the  adop- 
tion of  these  views  and  devotion  to  this  work.  But 
knowing  that  you  feel  the  evils  of  the  existing  order 
as  keenly  as  I  do,  and  are  to  devote  your  life  to 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  29 

binding  up  the  wounds  they  cause,  as  I  am  to  devote 
mine  to  finding  a  substitute  for  the  cruel  competi- 
tion which  does  the  cutting,  I  feel  renewed  comfort 
and  confidence  and  courage  in  my  undertaking. 
Assured  of  your  sympathy  and  appreciation,  I  shall 
not  mind  what  the  rest  of  the  world  may  say. 
Even  if  we  do  not  see  each  other  often,  our  work 
will  be  in  common  for  the  same  great  ends.  And 
while  I  am  struggling  to  secure  for  the  bread-win- 
ner a  larger  portion  of  the  product  of  his  toil,  you 
will  be  teaching  the  wife  and  daughters  how  to 
make  better  use  of  their  increased  earnings. 

I  may  as  well  confess  that  I  had  begun  to  cher- 
ish the  hope  of  a  closer  union ;  but  it  seems  that  the 
call  for  renunciation  of  private  happiness  has  come 
to  us  both  alike,  and  I  suppose  we  must  be  content  to 
lose  all  thought  of  individual  happiness  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  devotion  to  a  common  cause.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  great  a  support  even  this  connection 
with  you  is  to  me.  It  is  so  much  so  that  I  am 
sometimes  afraid  it  is  the  desire  to  be  in  sympathy 
with  you,  quite  as  much  as  my  own  consecration  to 
the  cause,  that  has  led  me  to  renounce  my  opportu- 
nity for  worldly  success,  and  enlist  in  this  crusade 
in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  the  oppressed.  Still  I 
shall  endeavor  to  serve  the  cause  for  its  own  sake, 
for  I  know  no  other  motive  for  it  would  find  favor 
in  your  eyes. 

In  the  earnest  hope  that  I  may  be  found  worthy 


30.  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

to  be  your  humble  co-worker  in  this  glorious  cause, 
I  am  Most  sincerely  yours, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bbadfobd  College,  February  22,  1904. 

My  dear  Father,  —  Your  question  as  to  what 
I  am  going  to  do  when  I  get  through  college  has 
set  me  to  thinking.  The  more  I  think,  the  less  I 
am  able  to  answer  it.  The  fact  is,  I  am  all  stirred 
up  and  unsettled.  College  has  raised  a  thousand 
questions,  and  thus  far  seems  to  have  answered 
none.  I  am  as  much,  yes,  rather  more  of  a  Chris- 
tian than  when  I  came  here  ;  but  the  creed  which 
I  accepted  then  as  a  matter  of  course,  now  bristles 
with  interrogation  points,  to  say  the  least,  on  every 
side.  So  that  the  ministry  is  out  of  the  question, 
even  if  I  were  adapted  to  it.  I  am  not  a  book- 
worm, and  so  I  stand  no  show  for  teaching.  I  am 
not  a  good  debater;  I  should  never  do  for  law. 
For  medicine  I  have  not  the  slightest  taste.  I  am 
afraid  I  never  shall  be  good  for  anything. 

Business  seems  to  be  the  only  opening ;  and 
yet  I  don't  like  to  take  that  as  a  last  resort.  One 
ought  to  feel  drawn  toward  that,  if  he  is  going  into 
it,  and  not  be  driven  to  it  like  a  slave. 

Besides,  I  am  beginning  to  question  whether  there 
is  any  chance  for  an  honest  man  in  business  now- 
adays. I  have  been  reading  a  good  deal  of  socialis- 
tic literature  lately,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  they 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  31 

may  not  be  right,  and  the  rest  of  us  all  wrong.  It 
does  n*t  seem  quite  the  fair  thing  that  I  should  be 
here,  living  in  idleness  and  comparative  luxury, 
with  a  practical  certainty  of  a  competence  all  my 
days  whether  I  do  any  work  or  not,  while  millions 
of  my  fellow-men  are  toiling  for  the  bare  necessities 
of  a  miserable  subsistence. 

I  can't  see  why,  just  because  grandfather  hap- 
pened to  settle  when  the  town  was  a  wilderness  on 
a  farm  which  included  the  whole  mill-privileges  of 
the  present  city  —  I  really  can't  see  why  we  should 
be  practically  levying  an  assessment  on  every  poor 
weaver  with  a  big  family  of  children,  and  every 
hard-worked  woman  with  aged  parents  to  support, 
that  works  in  our  mills  or  lives  in  our  tenements. 

Then  your  joining  the  trust  last  year  was  the 
last  straw  on  the  breaking  back  of  my  lingering 
faith  in  the  present  industrial  system.  If  a  trust 
is  n't  robbery  with  both  hands,  forcing  down  the 
wages  of  the  laborer,  and  putting  up  the  price  of 
goods  to  the  consimier,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
is.  Has  not  the  thing  a  trust  aims  to  accomplish, 
been  forbidden  by  law  ever  since  English  law  be- 
gan to  be  framed  ?  Have  not  the  legislatures  of 
half  our  States  passed  enactments  against  it  ?  Is  it 
not  denounced  on  the  platform  and  in  the  press  as 
the  most  glaring  injustice  and  iniquity  of  the  pre- 
sent generation  ? 

I  know  that  you  are  scrupulously  honest  and  up- 


32  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

right ;  and  that  you  would  not  do  anything  unless 
you  were  first  convinced  of  its  justice.  But  I  have 
come  to  look  at  these  things  in  the  light  of  abstract 
principles ;  and  in  that  light  they  stand  before  my 
mind  convicted  of  injustice  and  condemned  to  be 
superseded  by  more  equitable  arrangements.  Just 
what  that  better  order  is  to  be,  I  am  not  sure.  Per- 
haps I  am  in  the  condition  of  a  socialistic  speaker 
I  went  to  hear  the  other  night,  who  in  reply  to  a  de- 
mand from  the  audience  for  a  definite  statement 
of  his  proposed  remedies,  replied,  "  We  don't  know 
what  we  want,  but  we  want  it  right  away,  and  we 
want  it  bad."  Well,  I  must  confess  that  these  no- 
tions of  mine  have  not  been  very  clearly  thought 
out.  In  the  meantime  I  am  unsettled,  dissatisfied, 
miserable.  And  when  I  try  to  answer  your  question 
about  my  future  work,  I  am  made  more  conscious 
than  ever  of  my  wretched  intellectual  condition.  So 
you  must  have  patience  with  my  heresies  and  my 
imcertainties ;  and  perhaps  matters  will  clear  up 
before  the  time  for  the  final  decision  comes. 
Your  affectionate  son, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

senior  prospects 

Bradford  College,  January  23,  1905. 

My  dear  Father,  —  I  have  at  last  made  up  my 
mind  what  I  shall  do  after  graduation,  and  make 
haste  to  teU  you  first  of  all.  I  am  going  into  the  mills 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  33 

with  you.  I  shall  make  manufacturing  my  business ; 
and  what  time  I  can  spare  from  business  I  shall 
give  to  politics. 

A  good  stiff  course  of  political  economy  for  the 
past  year  and  a  half  has  entirely  knocked  out  of 
me  those  crude  notions  about  the  inherent  wicked- 
ness of  capital,  the  tyranny  of  ability,  and  the  sole 
and  exclusive  claim  of  labor  to  divide  among  its 
own  hands  the  entire  joint  product  of  the  three 
great  agencies.  What  you  told  me,  too,  about  your 
running  at  a  loss  during  these  hard  times,  has 
thrown  a  new  light  on  the  matter.  I  fuUy  appre- 
ciate the  force  of  your  remark  that  the  problem  of 
industry  is  not  how  to  divide  the  spoils,  but  how  to 
distribute  responsibility.  I  have  also  gotten  over 
my  horror  of  the  trust.  I  recognize  that  the  in- 
creased efficiency  of  machinery,  the  cheapening  of 
transportation,  the  swift  transmission  of  intelli- 
gence, the  factory  system,  the  massing  of  popula- 
tion in  cities,  the  concentration  of  capital  in  large 
corporations  with  extensive  plants  and  enormous 
fixed  charges,  the  competition  of  all  relatively  im- 
perishable and  transportable  products  in  one  vast 
world-market  have  radically  changed  the  conditions 
of  production,  and  made  old-fashioned  small-scale 
production,  and  free  competition  between  petty 
competitors,  impossible.  No,  Father ;  I  don't  think 
you  are  a  robber-baron,  because  you  have  joined 
the  trust.   I  begin  to  realize  the  tremendous  pres- 


34  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

sure  a  corporation  is  under  when  it  must  pay  in- 
terest, keep  up  repairs,  and  meet  fixed  charges,  and 
can  come  much  nearer  meeting  these  obligations 
by  producing  at  a  loss  than  by  not  producing  at 
all.  I  see  that  the  cutting  of  prices  below  cost  by 
old  concerns  trying  to  get  out  of  speculative  com- 
plications, and  by  new  concerns  eager  to  get  a  footing 
in  the  market,  makes  effective  combination  an  ab- 
solute necessity.  I  see  that  the  trust  is  simply  an 
effective  way  of  doing  what  was  ineffectively  at- 
tempted by  informal  agreements  as  to  trade  customs, 
listings,  quotations,  and  schedules  of  prices ;  writ- 
ten agreements  limiting  output  and  fixing  prices  ; 
the  appointment  of  common  agents  to  market  the 
product,  and  the  like.  I  accept  the  trust  as  the 
stage  of  economic  evolution  which  the  world  is  now 
compelled  to  enter. 

So  much  for  business.  Now,  as  to  politics.  You 
say  that  if  I  am  going  into  business  I  had  better 
let  politics  alone.  I  can't  agree  with  you.  What 
you  say  about  the  difficulties,  discouragements,  and 
disadvantages  of  meddling  with  politics  I  know  to 
be  true.  But  I  am  not  going  into  it  for  what  I  can 
get  out  of  it,  but  for  what  I  can  put  into  it.  You 
may  be  right  in  saying  that  I  shall  find  it  impos- 
sible in  the  cold,  hard  world  of  fact  to  make  all  my 
fine  ideals  real.  Well,  if  I  can't  make  the  ideal  real, 
I  can  at  least  do  something  toward  making  the 
real  a  little  more  ideal. 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  35 

Through  a  corrupt  civil  service,  honeycombed 
with  sinecures  and  loaded  with  incompetence ; 
through  valuable  franchises,  given  away,  or  sold 
for  a  song,  or  bought  by  bribery ;  through  the 
sacrifice  of  efficient  municipal  administration  to  the 
supposed  exigencies  of  national  politics ;  through 
discriminating  legislation,  wasteful  expenditure,  and 
unnecessary  taxation ;  through  the  universal  fail- 
ure to  find  a  satisfactory  method  of  dealing  with 
the  liquor  problem,  the  poor  man  is  squeezed,  and 
gouged,  and  plundered  by  idle  office-holders,  and 
fat  contractors,  and  favored  corporations,  and  sleek 
saloon-keepers,  and  bribe-taking  bosses,  and  un- 
righteous rings. 

I  am  going  into  politics  to  fight  these  concrete 
evils.  I  am  not  going  to  try  to  do  the  working- 
man's  work  for  him.  I  don't  believe  he  really  wants 
anybody  to  do  that.  And  I  am  sure  that  it  would 
be  the  worst  thing  that  could  happen  to  him,  if  he 
did.  But  I  am  going  to  try  to  give  him  a  chance 
to  do  his  work  under  fair  conditions  ;  and  make  it 
impossible  for  pensioners  or  politicians,  directly  or 
indirectly,  to  take  a  penny  of  his  hard  earnings 
from  him  without  giving  him  a  penny's  worth  of 
commodities  or  services  in  return.  And  as  for  trusts 
and  corporations  which  derive  their  existence  and 
protection  from  the  State,  I  propose  to  do  my  ut- 
most to  enforce  on  them  publicity,  and  the  respon- 
sibility that  goes  therewith.    I  would  have  their 


36  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

books  open  to  the  best  expert  accountants  the  State 
could  employ  ;  and  I  would  have  some  way  of  find- 
ing out  how  much  of  the  vast  savmg  in  production 
these  enormous  aggregations  of  capital  undoubtedly 
effect  goes  to  the  proprietors,  and  how  much  goes 
to  the  community. 

There,  Father,  you  have  my  programme :  Through 
business  to  earn  an  honest  living  for  myself,  and 
through  politics  to  help  every  other  man  to  a  fair 
chance  to  do  the  same. 

In  these  ways,  my  views  on  the  relations  of 
capital  and  labor  have  undergone  a  pretty  radical 
change.  I  could  not  teU  you  the  whole  story  in  a 
letter.  But  suffice  it  to  say :  While  I  stiU  believe 
that  there  are  grave  defects  in  the  existing  indus- 
trial system,  and  believe  that  there  are  many  ways 
in  which  it  might  be  improved,  I  see  that  such 
improvement  must  be  a  long,  slow  process  of  evo- 
lution, in  which  one  defect  after  another  must  be 
sloughed  off  gradually.  I  see  that  such  a  desire  to 
improve  the  system,  and  gradually  to  substitute 
better  features  in  place  of  those  which  now  exist, 
is  not  inconsistent  with  one's  working  practically 
under  the  system  as  it  is.  Indeed,  I  am  convinced 
that  the  desired  improvement  must  come,  not 
through  agitators,  who  seek  to  apply  abstract  prin- 
ciples from  without,  but  through  manufacturers 
and  merchants,  who  understand  the  present  system 
in  its  practical  internal  workings,  and  are  thus  able 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  ll^;    37 

to  develop  the  new  out  of  the  old.  I  believ^  that 
my  proper  place  as  a  reformer  is  inside,  not  out- 
side, of  the  industrial  system  that  is  to»be  ref9rmed. 
That  is  the  extent  of  the  socialism  there  is  left 
in  me.  At  the  same  time  I  feel  that  the  strong 
dose  of  socialism  I  have  taken  during  the  past  year 
or  more  has  done  me  good.  Unless  I  had  been 
through  this  stage  of  striving  to  set  all  things 
right,  I  am  afraid  I  should  h^e  settled  down  into 
the  conventional  ruts  of^.  theS^ere  business  man, 
who  is  content  to  make  m^fll^  little  pile  in  his 
own  way,  leaving  society  t(0take  care  of  its  own 
affairs.  I  am  glad  that  my  choice  of  business  coin- 
cides with  your  long-cherished  wishes ;  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  see  that  my  political  purposes  are  not 
altogether  destituf^  (^justice  and  sound  sense. 
Your^fPeitionate  son, 

^^         Clarence  Mansfield. 

*^v  Bradford  College,  March  2,  1905. 

"M/jT  DEAR  Mother,  —  You  already  know,  from 
my  letter  to  Father,  my  final  decision  about  a  pro- 
fession. I  am  glad  it  pleases  him,  and  my  only 
regret  is  that  it  may  not  be  equally  acceptable 
to  you.  I  know  you  hoped  I  should  be  a  minis- 
ter, or  at  least  a  doctor  or  lawyer.  I  recognize  the 
many  attractive  things  about  all  these  professions ; 
but  I  do  not  believe  I  was  cut  out  for  either  of 
them.   If  you  will  pardon  once  more  an  illustration 


38  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

from  your  chief  abomination,  the  foot-ball  field,  I 
can  show  you  how  I  feel  about  it.  Business  and 
politics  seem  to  me  like  being  actually  in  the  game, 
playing  it  for  aU  you  are  worth.  The  lawyer  strikes 
me  as  a  sort  of  umpire,  to  declare  and  apply  tho 
rules  in  case  of  fraud  or  foul  play,  or  the  member 
of  the  athletic  committee  who  conducts  the  diplo- 
macy. The  doctor  strikes  me  as  the  fellow  who 
stands  along  the  side  lines,  ready  to  bind  up  the 
bruised  heads  and  broken  limbs.  The  journalist  is 
the  man  who  takes  notes  and  writes  it  up  afterward. 
The  minister  seems  like  the  man  who  sits  on  the 
grand  stand  and  explains  the  fine  plays  and  errors 
to  the  ladies.  My  heart  would  not  be  in  any  of 
these  things,  and  consequently  I  should  not  do 
either  of  them  well.  The  studies  of  the  last  part 
of  the  course,  now  that  they  are  elective,  and  one 
carries  them  far  enough  to  really  get  into  them, 
sift  men  out  for  the  right  professions,  without  their 
knowing  when  or  how  it  happens. 

The  fellows  that  take  to  biology,  that  are  handy 
with  the  microtome  and  the  microscope,  go  on  into 
medicine  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  fellows  that 
get  waked  up  in  philosophy,  and  take  the  problems 
of  the  universe  upon  their  shoulders,  naturally  go 
into  the  ministry.  The  men  that  take  to  history 
and  political  science  are  foreordained  to  law.  Now, 
while  I  have  been  interested  in  three  or  four  lines, 
my  only  genuine  enthusiasm  has  been  economics. 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  39 

Industry  and  commerce  seem  to  me  the  basis  on 
which  everything  else  rests.  I  think  that  I  can  do 
more  good  as  a  business  man  and  an  active  force 
in  politics,  with  a  successful  business  behind  me, 
than  in  any  other  way.  The  business  man  and  the 
politician  seem  to  me  to  be  dealing  with  the  real 
things,  while  the  professional  men  seem  to  be  deal- 
ing only  with  the  symbols  of  things. 

A  man's  vocation  ought  to  be  the  expression  of 
his  ideal.  My  ideal  is  to  be  an  effective  member 
of  the  social  order  that  now  is,  and  an  efficient  pro- 
moter of  the  better  social  order  that  is  to  be. 

You  complain  that  I  do  not  say  much  about  re- 
ligion nowadays.  As  I  have  told  you  often,  religion 
is  not  to  my  mind  an  external  form  superimposed 
upon  life  from  without,  but  is  the  informing  spirit 
of  life  itself.  In  striving  to  do  with  my  might  the 
thing  my  fellow-men  need  most  to  have  done  for 
them,  I  feel  that  I  am  at  the  same  time  doing  what 
is  most  acceptable  to  God,  and  most  conformable 
to  the  teaching  and  example  of  Jesus  Christ. 

At  the  same  time  I  have  gotten  over  that  antipa- 
thy to  religious  institutions  which  I  have  had  for 
a  year  or  two.  I  have  gone  back  to  the  Christian 
Association  here  in  college  ;  and  whether  the  change 
is  in  them  or  in  me  I  don't  know,  but  I  find  my- 
self able  both  to  do  good  and  to  get  good  in  their 
meetings.  In  fact,  unless  there  were  some  such 
meeting-ground  for  the  expression  and  cultivation 


40  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

of  our  ideals,  I  don't  see  how  they  could  be  kept 
from  fading  out.  It  is  a  great  help  to  feel  that  in 
spite  of  the  diversity  of  taste,  talent,  and  vocation, 
so  many  earnest  fellows  are  going  out  into  the  world 
as  sincere  servants  of  the  one  God,  followers  of  the 
one  Lord,  and  workers  in  the  one  Spirit. 

I  shaU  also  connect  myself  actively  with  the 
Church.  I  do  not  profess  to  have  solved  all  the 
problems  of  theology,  and  fortunately  our  Church 
does  not  require  of  laymen  like  me  subscription  to 
an  elaborate  creed.  I  see  that  the  cry  "  Back  to 
Jesus  "  in  religion,  is  as  foolish  as  the  cry  "  Back 
to  Phidias  "  in  art,  or  "  Back  to  Homer  "  in  poetry. 

We  cannot  go  back  to  primitive  simplicity  and 
naivete  in  any  department  of  life.  The  subsequent 
development  is  part  and  parcel  of  our  spiritual  in- 
heritance, of  which  it  is  impossible  to  divest  our- 
selves. The  Church,  as  the  organized,  institutional 
expression  of  the  life  of  the  Spirit  of  God  in  the 
heart  of  humanity,  I  accept  as  a  spiritual  neces- 
sity. And  I  should  no  more  think  of  trying  to 
serve  God  and  my  fellow-men  apart  from  it,  than 
I  should  think  of  shouldering  my  individual  mus- 
ket and  marching  across  the  fields  on  my  own  pri- 
vate account  to  defend  my  country  against  an  in- 
vading army.  Christian  kindness.  Christian  justice. 
Christian  civilization.  Christian  culture,  the  Chris- 
tian family,  and  above  all  a  Christian  mother  like 
you,  I  believe  in  and  love  with  all  my  heart.   And 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  41 

now  that  the  Church  has  come  to  represent  to  my 
mind,  symbolically  at  least,  all  these  most  precious 
and  beneficent  influences  that  have  entered  into 
the  structure  of  my  character  and  life,  I  cannot 
do  less  than  freely  give  my  influence  and  support 
to  the  institution  from  which,  indirectly  if  not  di- 
rectly, I  have  freely  received  so  much. 

So,  my  dear  mother,  if  you  will  look  beneath 
the  outward  form  to  the  underlying  spirit,  I  hope 
you  will  see  that  after  all  I  am  a  good  deal  of  a 
Christian ;  and  mean  to  be  in  my  own  way  some- 
thing of  a  minister  too. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 

Bradford  College,  June  15, 1905. 

My  dearest  Nell,  —  You  should  n't  complain 
that  my  letters  for  the  past  six  weeks  have  been 
all  about  you,  and  nothing  about  myself.  How  can 
a  fellow  help  it,  when  you  have  made  him  the 
happiest  being  in  the  world?  Still,  if  you  com- 
mand, I  must  obey,  and  begin  the  story  of  my 
poor  self  where  I  left  off.  Let 's  see.  Where  was 
it  ?  It  seems  so  long  ago  and  so  far  away  that  I 
can  scarce  recall  it. 

"  How  soon  a  smile  of  God  can  change  the 
world ! " 

Oh  !  I  remember.  The  agreement  was  that  you 
were  to  quit  the  role  of  St.  Catherine,  and  conde- 


42  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

scend  to  enter  a  home  instead  of  a  settlement ;  and 
I  was  to  abjure  the  vows  of  a  St.  Christopher  to 
right  at  once  all  the  wrongs  of  the  universe  by  my 
own  right  arm,  before  entertaining  the  "  thought 
of  tender  happiness."  We  were  two  precious  fools, 
were  n't  we  ?  Yet  it  was  a  divine  folly  after  all. 
Goethe  is  right  in  his  doctrine  of  renunciation.  If 
we  had  not  faced  fairly  the  giving  up  of  all  this 
bliss,  it  would  not  be  half  so  sweet  to  us  now.  And 
please  don't  tell  me  I  have  "  smashed  at  one  blow 
all  your  long-cherished  ideals  of  social  service." 
It  is  not  so.  The  substance  of  all  those  social  aims 
of  yours  is  as  precious  to  us  both  as  it  ever  was, 
and  we  will  find  ways  to  work  them  out  together. 
Not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  loftiest  standard  you 
ever  set  before  yourself  shall  be  suffered  to  pass 
away  unfulfilled.  Your  aims  and  aspirations  are 
not  lost,  but  transformed,  aufgehohen^  as  the  Ger- 
mans say  of  the  chemical  constituents  of  the  soil 
when  they  are  taken  up  to  form  the  living  tissue 
of  plant  or  animal. 

There  is  nothing  you  ever  thought  of  doing  in  a 
settlement  that  we  wiU  not  do  better  in  our  home. 
We  shall  not  give  less  to  the  world,  because  we  are 
more  ourselves.  We  shall  not  be  less  able  to  com- 
fort those  who  sorrow,  because  our  own  hearts 
overflow  with  joy.  Because  we  are  rich  in  each 
other,  we  shall  not  be  less  generous  to  all.  You 
shall  have  all  the  classes  and  schools  and  clubs  and 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  43 

meetings  you  wish  ;  and  they  will  not  be  the  least 
bit  less  successful  for  being  in  the  home  of  a  miU- 
owner  in  our  native  city  of  fifty  thousand  people, 
instead  of  in  some  neglected  quarter  of  a  city  ten 
times  as  big. 

Do  you  know,  Father  is  so  delighted  with  what 
he  calls  the  "  recovery  of  my  reason,"  that  he  has 
promised  to  build  a  house  for  us  this  fall.  We  will 
work  up  the  plans  together  this  summer.  One  fea- 
ture of  it,  though,  I  have  fixed  on  already,  which 
I  know  you  will  approve.  Our  library  wiQ  be  a 
long  room,  with  a  big  fireplace  on  one  side  and  a 
cosy  den  at  each  end,  marked  off  by  an  arch  sup- 
ported by  pillars.  These  dens  we  will  fit  up  with 
our  college  books  and  furniture,  and  make  them 
jtst  as  nearly  like  our  coUege  rooms  as  we  can. 
And  then  in  the  long  winter  evenings  we  will  come 
out  of  our  dens  before  the  fireplace  ;  and  you  wiU 
be  my  private  tutor,  and  with  your  patient  tuition 
I  shall  perhaps  get  some  good  after  all  out  of  the 
Horace  and  Goethe  and  Shelley  and  Browning, 
which  you  understand  and  love  so  weU ;  but  which, 
to  teU  the  truth,  I  have  n't  got  much  out  of  thus 
far.  Somehow  we  fellows  don't  get  hold  of  those 
things  as  you  do. 

Is  n't  it  glorious  that  my  examinations  come  so 
that  I  can  get  off  for  your  class  day  and  com- 
mencement !  To  be  sure,  I  shall  probably  forget 
the  fine  points  in  political  economy  and  sociology, 


44  THE  TRANSFORMATION 

in  which  I  have  been  working  for  honors  the  past 
two  years.  But  then,  honors  or  no  honors,  I  have 
got  the  good  out  of  them  anyway ;  and  what  are 
honors  at  the  end  of  college  compared  with  love  at 
the  beginning  of  life  ? 

I  am  delighted  that  you  are  coming  to  my  com- 
mencement. My  part  is  a  dry,  heavy  thing,  which 
I  don't  expect  to  make  interesting  to  anybody  else ; 
but  it  is  intensely  interesting  to  me,  for  it  sums 
up  the  inner  experience  which  I  have  been  going 
through  these  past  four  years,  and  has  helped  to 
give  me  my  bearings  as  I  go  out  into  life.  My 
subject  is,  "  Naturalness,  Selfishness,  SeK-sacrifice, 
and  Self-realization."  You  who  have  known  me  as 
no  one  else  has  all  these  years,  you  will  see  what 
it  all  means.    You  catch  the  idea. 

First:  We  set  out  as  nature  has  formed  and 
tradition  has  fashioned  us ;  innocent,  susceptible, 
frail.  The  hard,  cruel  world  comes  down  upon  us, 
and  would  crush  us  under  its  heavy  unintelligible 
weight. 

Second :  We  rise  up  against  it,  defy  tradition 
and  throw  convention  to  the  winds.  We  in  turn 
strive  to  trample  others  under  foot.  But  though 
we  wear  spiked  shoes,  we  find  the  pricks  we  kick 
against  harder  and  sharper  than  our  spikes. 

Third:  We  surrender,  abjectly  and  uncondi- 
tionally ;  cast  spear  and  shield  away  in  the  extreme 
of  formal,  abstract  self-denial,  and  ascetic,  egotis- 


OF  THE  UNDERGRADUATE  45 

tical  self-sacrifice.    This  in  turn  betrays  its  hoUow- 
ness  and  emptiness  and  uselessness  and  unreality. 

Fourth :  The  Lord  of  life,  against  whom  we  Ve 
been  blindly  fighting  all  the  while,  lifts  us  up  in  his 
strong  arms ;  sets  us  about  the  concrete  duties  of 
our  station  ;  arms  us  with  the  strength  of  definite 
human  duties,  and  cheers  us  with  the  warmth  of 
individual  human  love ;  and  sends  us  forth  to  the 
social  service  which  to  hearts  thus  fortified  is  per- 
fect freedom  and  perennial  delight. 

Such  a  process  of  spiritual  transformation  I 
take  to  be  the  ti"ue  significance  of  a  college  course. 
To  be  sure  in  college,  as  in  the  great  world  of 
which  it  is  a  part,  none  see  the  meaning  of  the 
earlier  phases  until  they  reach  the  later ;  and  con- 
sequently many  never  see  any  sense  in  it  at  all. 
For  the  great  majority  of  men  go  through  college, 
as  the  great  majority  go  through  life,  without  get- 
ting beyond  the  first  or  second  stage,  and  graduate 
as  Matthew  Arnold  says  most  men  die,  "  Unfreed, 
having  seen  nothing,  still  unblest." 

There,  NeU,  have  n't  I  been  as  egoistic  this  time 
as  your  altruistic  highness  could  desire  ? 
Your  devoted  lover, 

Clarence  Mansfield. 


Ill 

Greek  Qualities  in  the  College  Man 

WHETHER  in  Cuba  or  in  the  Klondike,  in 
camp  or  in  college,  wherever  men  live  to- 
gether in  close  quarters,  there  they  form  a  moral 
code. 

The  codes  of  college  students,  like  the  codes  of 
mining  camps,  are  couched  in  grotesque,  slangy 
terms  ;  but  the  heart  of  them  is  sure  to  be  sound. 

For  the  strictly  limited  purposes  of  a  college  code 
—  that  is,  for  healthy,  wealthy  young  fellows  who 
have  no  immediate  concern  about  earning  their  liv- 
ing, and  who  are  free  from  domestic,  business,  and 
political  responsibilities  —  these  college  codes  serve 
fairly  weU.  That  our  college  youth,  in  entire  un- 
consciousness of  what  they  are  doing,  and  without 
the  remotest  intention  of  drawing  up  a  moral  code, 
come  to  a  tacit  acceptance  of  principles  so  profound, 
so  searching,  and  so  comprehensive,  is  a  magnificent 
witness  to  the  soundness  of  young  men's  ethical 
insight. 

The  Greeks  worked  out  an  ethical  code  for  them- 
selves in  as  direct  a  contact  with  actual  social  needs 
as  is  felt  by  our  miners  and  soldiers  and  ranchmen 
and  college  students.     Though  there  were  many 


GREEK  QUALITIES  47 

points  which  their  code  did  not  cover,  yet  it  was 
much  broader  than  any  of  these  special  codes  which 
are  being  developed  to-day,  and  with  adequate  am- 
plification can  be  made  to  include  the  whole  social 
duty  of  man.  Their  ethical  efforts  came  to  so  little, 
not  from  lack  of  insight  so  much  as  from  lack  of 
motive.  To  unite  the  ethical  insight  of  the  Greek 
with  the  spiritual  motive  of  the  Christian  would  be 
the  salvation  of  individual  or  country  or  race. 

If  we  are  to  see  life  with  the  eyes  of  the  Greeks, 
we  must  first  free  our  minds  of  the  notion  that  any- 
thing in  the  world,  any  appetite  or  passion  of  man, 
is  either  good  or  bad  in  itself.  Life  would  be  simple 
indeed  if  only  some  things,  like  eating  and  studying 
and  working  and  saving  and  giving,  were  absolutely 
good  ;  and  other  things,  like  drinking  and  smoking 
and  spending  and  theatre-going  and  dancing  and 
sexual  love,  were  absolutely  bad.  To  be  sure,  men 
and  schools  and  churches  have  often  tried  to  dissect 
life  into  these  two  halves  ;  but  it  never  works  well. 
\Material  things  and  natural  appetites  are  in  them- 
selves neither  good  nor  bad;  they  become  good  \ 
when  rightly  related,  and  bad  when  wrongly  related.  /"^ 

WISDOM   IN   INVESTMENT 

The  first  Greek  virtue  is  wisdom.  Wisdom,  in 
the  ethical  sense  of  the  term,  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  book-learning.  Illiterate  people  are  fre- 
quently exceedingly  wise,  while  learned  people  are 


48  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

often  the  biggest  fools.  Wisdom  is  the  sense  of 
proportion  —  the  power  to  see  clearly  one's  ends, 
and  their  relative  worth  ;  to  subordinate  lower  ends 
to  higher  without  sacrificing  the  lower  altogether ; 
and  to  select  the  appropriate  means  to  one's  ends, 
taking  just  so  much  of  the  means  as  will  best  serve 
the  ends,  —  no  more  and  no  less.  It  is  neither  the 
gratification  nor  the  suppression  of  appetite  and 
passion  as  such,  but  the  organization  of  them  into 
a  hierarchy  of  ends  which  they  are  sternly  compelled 
to  subserve. 

Of  the  many  ends  at  which  a  wise  man  aims, 
such  as  health,  wealth,  reputation,  power,  culture, 
and  the  like,  a  single  subordinate  phase  of  a  single 
end,  the  investment  of  savings,  will  bring  out  the 
essential  feature  of  wisdom.  Now,  the  end  at  which 
a  man  aims  in  investment  of  savings  is  provision 
for  himself  and  his  family  in  old  age.  It  is  the  part 
of  wisdom  to  keep  that  end  constantly  before  the 
mind  —  not  allowing  other  ends  to  be  substituted 
for  it ;  and  to  choose  the  means  which  strictly  sub- 
serve that  end  —  not  the  means  which  are  attractive 
in  themselves,  or  promise  to  serve  some  other  end. 
Yet  simple  as  this  matter  is,  not  one  investor  of 
savings  in  twenty  has  the  wisdom  to  do  it. 

Investment  of  savings  is  an  entirely  different 
thing  from  the  investment  a  merchant  or  manufac- 
turer makes  for  purposes  of  profit;  and  to  keep 
this  distinction  clear  is  one  of  the  greatest  signs  of 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  49 

practical  wisdom.  The  prime  consideration  in  in- 
vestment of  savings  should  be  security.  The  wise 
investor  of  savings  will  remember  two  principles : 
first,  high  interest  is  another  name  for  poor  security ; 
second,  large  profits  is  another  name  for  extreme 
risk.  He  will  confine  his  investment  to  building 
and  loan  associations,  savings  banks,  government 
and  conservative  municipal  bonds,  real  estate ;  first 
mortgages  on  real  estate  worth  twice  the  face  of  the 
mortgage,  which  is  producing  income  considerably 
in  excess  of  the  interest  on  the  mortgage,  and  is 
owned  by  some  one  who  has  other  property  besides 
that  on  which  the  mortgage  is  held ;  and  finally, 
local  companies  which  serve  essential  local  needs, 
like  light,  water,  and  transportation,  provided  they 
are  honestly  and  economically  managed.  These,  in 
about  the  order  named,  are  the  only  safe  and  there- 
fore the  only  wise  forms  of  investment  for  savings. 
The  expert  banker  and  financier  may  seek  larger 
profits  where  he  pleases ;  but  the  man  who  puts  his 
savings,  be  they  small  or  large,  on  which  he  relies 
for  old  age,  into  any  forms  of  investment  more 
risky  than  these  is  a  fool.  There  is  nothing  more 
pitiful  than  to  see  men  and  women,  who  have 
worked  hard  and  lived  close  year  after  year,  flat- 
tered and  wheedled  into  putting  their  savings  into 
some  specious  scheme  which  promises  six  or  eight 
per  cent  interest,  or  the  chance  in  a  few  years  to 
double  their  money,  and  then  fails  altogether  just 


50  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

when  the  money  they  have  saved  is  most  needed, 
and  the  power  to  earn  wages  or  salary  has  gone. 

To  sum  up  the  dictates  of  wisdom  on  this  point 
in  a  few  simple  rules,  wisdom  says :  "  Avoid  high 
rates  of  interest ;  seek  no  business  profits  beyond 
the  range  of  your  own  immediate  and  expert  obser- 
vation ;  lend  money  as  a  favor  to  no  one,  unless 
you  are  able  and  willing,  if  need  be,  to  give  the 
money  outright ;  have  no  business  dealings  with 
your  relatives  in  which  business  and  sentiment  are 
mixed  up  ;  sign  no  notes  and  assume  no  financial 
responsibilities  for  other  people  ;  keep  your  money 
where  you  can  watch  the  men  who  manage  it  for 
you ;  never  put  a  large  part  of  your  savings  into 
any  one  investment."  He  who  keeps  these  rules 
may  not  grow  suddenly  rich,  but  he  will  never  be- 
come suddenly  and  sorrowfully  poor. 

This  simple  yet  very  practical  example  may  serve 
as  the  type  of  all  wisdom.  It  simply  demands  that 
we  be  perfectly  clear  about  our  ends,  and  the  part 
they  play  in  our  permanent  plan  of  life ;  and  then, 
that  we  never  leave  or  forsake  these  chosen  ends 
to  chase  after  others  which  circumstance  or  flattery 
or  vanity  or  indolence  or  ambition  may  chance  to 
suggest. 

JUSTICE   AND   MODERN   STEALING 

If  man  dwelt  alone  in  the  world  of  things,  wis- 
dom to  subordinate  things  to  his  ends  would  be 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  51 

the  principal  virtue.  The  form  of  the  perfect  char- 
acter would  be  a  circle,  with  self  as  the  centre. 
The  fact  that  we  live  in  a  social  world,  where  other 
persons  must  be  recognized,  is  the  ground  of  jus- 
tice, the  second  Greek  virtue.  Justice  requires  the 
subordination  of  the  interests  of  the  individual 
to  the  interests  of  society,  and  the  persons  who 
constitute  society,  in  the  same  way  that  wisdom 
requires  the  subordination  of  particular  desires  to 
the  permanent  interests  of  the  whole  individual  to 
whom  they  belong.  For  the  individual  is  a  part  of 
society  in  the  same  vital  way  in  which  a  single  de- 
sire is  part  of  an  individual.  To  indulge  a  single 
desire  at  the  expense  of  the  permanent  self  is  folly  ; 
and  to  indulge  a  single  individual,  whether  myself 
or  another,  at  the  expense  of  society  is  injustice. 

The  essence  of  injustice  consists  in  treating  peo-  [ 
pie,  not  as  persons,  having  interests  and  ends  of  ' 
their  own,  but  as  mere  tools  or  machines,  to  do  the 
things  we  want  to  have  done.    The  penalty  of  injus-  | 
tice  is  a  hardening  of  heart  and  shriveling  of  soul ; 
so  that  if  a  person  were  to  treat  everybody  in  that 
way,  he  would  come  to  dwell  in  a  world  of  things, 
and,  before  he  knew  it,  degenerate  into  a  mere 
thing  himseK.    Lord  Eosebery  points  out  that  this 
habit  of  treating  men  as  mere  means  to  his  own 
ends  was  what  made  Napoleon's  mind  lose  its  sanity 
of  judgment,  and  made  his  heart  the  friendless, 
cheerless  desolation  that  it  was  in  his  last  days. 


52  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

We  have  all  seen  persons  in  whom  this  harden- 
ing, shriveling,  drying-up  process  had  reached  al- 
most the  vanishing-point.  The  employer  toward  his 
"  hands ; "  the  officer  toward  his  troops ;  the  teacher, 
even,  toward  his  scholars ;  the  housekeeper  toward 
her  servants ;  all  of  us  toward  the  people  who  cook 
our  food,  and  make  our  beds,  and  seU  our  meat, 
and  raise  our  vegetables,  are  in  imminent  danger  of 
slipping  down  on  to  this  immoral  level  of  treating 
them  as  mere  machines.  Royce,  in  his  "  Religious 
Aspect  of  Philosophy,"  has  set  this  forth  most  for- 
cibly among  English  writers ;  though  it  lies  at  the 
heart  of  aU  German  formulas,  like  Kant's  "  Treat 
humanity,  whether  in  thyself  or  in  others,  always  as 
an  end,  never  as  a  means,'*  and  HegeFs  "  Be  a  per- 
son, and  respect  the  personality  of  others."  Royce 
says:  "Let  one  look  over  the  range  of  his  bare 
acquaintanceship ;  let  him  leave  out  his  friends,  and 
the  people  in  whom  he  takes  a  special  personal  in- 
terest ;  let  him  regard  the  rest  of  his  world  of  fel- 
low-men, —  his  butcher,  his  grocer,  the  policeman 
that  patrols  his  street,  the  newsboy,  the  servant  in 
his  kitchen,  his  business  rivals.  Are  they  not  one 
and  all  to  him  ways  of  behavior  toward  himself  or 
other  people,  outwardly  effective  beings,  rather  than 
realized  masses  of  genuine  inner  sentiment,  of  love, 
or  of  felt  desire  ?  Does  he  not  naturally  think  of 
each  of  them  rather  as  a  way  of  outward  action  than 
as  a  way  of  inner  volition  ?   His  butcher,  his  news- 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  63 

boy,  his  servant,  —  are  they  not  for  him  industrious 
or  lazy,  honest  or  deceitful,  polite  or  uncivil,  useful 
or  useless  people,  rather  than  self-conscious  people  ? 
Is  any  one  of  these  alive  for  him  in  the  full  sense, 
—  sentient,  emotional,  and  otherwise  like  himself, 
as  perhaps  his  own  son,  or  his  own  mother  or  wife, 
seems  to  him  to  be  ?  Is  it  not  rather  their  being  for 
him,  not  for  themselves,  that  he  considers  in  all  his 
ordinary  life  ?  Not  their  inner  volitional  nature  is 
realized,  but  their  manner  of  outward  activity. 
Such  is  the  nature  and  ground  of  the  illusion  of 
selfishness." 

This  passage  from  Royce  lays  bare  the  source  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  social  immorality  in  the 
world,  and  accounts  for  nine  tenths  of  all  the  world's 
trouble. 

What  wonder  that  a  man  of  this  type  cannot 
succeed  in  any  large  work  of  administration !  He 
treats  men  as  things.  But  men  are  not  things. 
They  rise  up  in  indignation  against  him.  Every 
man  of  them  is  instantly  his  enemy,  and  will  take 
the  first  chance  that  occurs  to  betray  him  and  cast 
him  down.  A  man  of  that  type  cannot  run  a  mill 
or  a  store  or  a  school  or  a  political  campaign  or  a 
hotel  a  week  without  being  in  a  row.  He  cannot  live 
in  a  community  six  weeks  without  having  made  more 
enemies  than  friends.  The  first  time  he  trips,  every 
one  is  ready  to  jump  on  him.  And  in  aU  his  trouble 
and  unpopularity,  and  failure  and  defeat,  the  beauty 


54  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

of  it  is  that  he  is  getting  precisely  what  he  deserves, 
and  we  all  exclaim,  "  It 's  good  enough  for  him !  " 
Selfishness  is  closely  akin  to  folly.  The  fool  treats 
things  as  if  they  were  mere  qualities,  and  had  no 
permanent  effect.  But  the  effects  come  back  to 
plague  and  torment  him.  The  selfish  man  treats 
men  as  if  they  were  mere  acts,  and  had  no  perma- 
nent selves.  He  may  at  the  time  get  out  of  them 
the  act  he  wants,  but  in  doing  so  he  makes  them 
his  enemies ;  and  no  man  can  permanently  prosper 
with  every  other  man  openly  or  secretly  arrayed 
against  him.  The  most  fundamental  question  a  man 
can  ask  about  our  character  is  whether  and  to  what 
extent  we  habitually  treat  persons  as  persons,  and 
not  as  things.  The  answer  to  that  question  wiU  teU 
us  whether  we  shall  succeed  or  fail  in  any  enterprise 
which  has  an  important  social  side  ;  will  tell  whether 
we  shall  make  a  home  happy  or  wretched  ;  will  tell 
whether  we  are  more  of  a  blessing  or  a  curse  to  the 
world  in  which  we  move.  And  the  test  is  to  be 
found,  not  in  our  attitude  toward  the  people  whom 
we  consider  our  superiors  and  equals ;  not  in  the 
appearance  we  make  in  what  is  technically  called 
society.  There  we  have  to  be  decent,  whether  we 
want  to  or  not ;  there  we  have  to  treat,  or  appear 
to  treat,  persons  as  persons,  not  as  things.  Little 
credit  belongs  to  us  for  all  that.  But  when  it  comes 
to  our  relations  with  the  people  of  whom  Royce  was 
speaking,  there  we  seem  to  be  under  no  such  social 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  65 

compulsion.  There  our  real  character  gets  blurted 
out.  How  do  we  think  and  feel  and  speak  and  act 
toward  our  washerwoman  or  the  man  who  does  our 
humblest  work  for  us  ?  That  determines  whether 
we  are  at  heart  Christians  or  barbarians,  whether  a 
gentleman  or  a  brute  sits  on  the  throne  of  our  soul. 
For  whether  a  fellow-man  is  ever  a  means  instead 
of  an  end,  whether  the  personality  of  the  humblest 
ever  fails  to  win  our  recognition,  inasmuch  as  we 
do  it  or  do  it  not  unto  the  least  of  our  breth- 
ren, determines  our  moral  and  social  status,  as  the 
men  of  insight,  like  Kant  and  Hegel  and  Jesus, 
define  it. 

One  of  the  most  important  forms  of  justice  is 
honesty  in  services  and  material  goods.  To  be  hon- 
est means  that  we  refuse  to  be  partner  to  a  trade 
or  transaction  in  which  we  would  not  willingly 
accept  its  consequence  to  all  parties,  provided  we 
were  in  their  places.  Any  transaction  that  involves 
effects  on  another  we  would  not  willingly,  under 
the  circumstances,  accept  for  ourselves,  is  fraud 
and  robbery.  The  man  who  pilfers  goods  from  a 
pocket  or  a  counter  is  the  least  of  the  thieves  of 
to-day.  He  is  only  doing,  in  a  pitiful  way,  the 
devil's  retail  business.  The  men  who  do  his  whole- 
sale business  often  move  in  the  best  of  society, 
and  are  even  the  makers  and  executors  of  our  laws. 
Wholesale  stealing  has  numerous  forms,  but  it  is 
nearly  all  reducible  to  two  well-marked  types. 


66  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

First,  stealing  is  carried  on  by  issuing  repre- 
sentations of  what  does  not  exist  as  represented. 
Stealing  of  this  sort  is  really  lying.  Adulteration 
of  goods,  watered  stock,  false  accounts,  are  the 
grosser  forms  of  this  stealing.  The  more  adroit 
of  these  rascals,  however,  take  to  the  promotion 
of  spurious  enterprises.  They  form  a  company  to 
work  a  mine  which  has  ore,  but  which  they  know 
cannot  be  worked  at  a  profit ;  or  they  build  a  rail- 
road between  points  where  there  is  not  traffic  or 
travel  enough  to  pay  a  fair  rate  of  interest  on  the 
capital  invested.  They  appropriate  to  themselves 
a  generous  block  of  the  stock  as  the  price  for 
their  work  of  organization.  They  put  in  the  most 
expensive  plant  and  equipment.  For  the  first  few 
months,  when  there  are  no  repairs  needed,  by  arti- 
ficial stimulus  and  by  various  devices  of  book- 
keeping, or  by  leaving  some  bills  unpaid,  they 
make  a  showing  on  paper  of  large  earnings  above 
running  expenses.  On  this  fictitious  showing  they 
sell  their  stock  to  investors  at  a  distance,  who 
think  they  are  being  specially  favored  in  being  let 
into  a  chance  to  earn  dividends  of  ten  per  cent. 
Then  comes  the  crash  ;  the  poor  fools  that  in- 
vested in  the  stock  find  it  worthless,  and  even  the 
bonds  which  represent  its  construction  fall  below 
par.  Then  the  poor  robbed,  cheated,  deluded  in- 
vestors look  to  the  promoter  for  redress ;  and  lo  I 
he  has  unloaded  his  stock,  and  is  planning  another 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  57 

mine  in  inaccessible  Tennessee  mountains,  or  sell- 
ing lumber  that  no  team  can  haul  out  of  some 
impenetrable  Florida  swamp,  or  booming  city  lots 
staked  out  on  some  unbroken  Kansas  prairie,  or 
running  an  electric  railroad  through  the  pastures 
and  woodlands  that  connect  out-of-the-way  hamlets 
in  Maine.  Justice  and  honesty  demand  that  we 
shall  read  that  man's  character  in  the  light  of  the 
losses  he  inflicts  on  hard-working  farmers,  depend- 
ent widows,  poor  men  and  women  who  have  toiled 
all  their  lives,  and  are  looking  for  rest  in  old  age. 
In  that  clear  light  of  consequence  to  their  fellows, 
the  acts  of  these  unscrupulous  promoters  stand 
out  in  their  naked  hideousness  and  deformity.  The 
man  who  promotes  a  scheme  of  this  kind,  know- 
ing or  having  good  reason  to  believe  that  his  gain 
is  represented  by  widespread  robbery  of  the  inno- 
cent, and  plunder  of  the  unprotected,  is  a  thief 
and  a  robber ;  and  the  place  where  he  belongs 
is  at  hard  work  in  striped  clothes,  by  the  side  of 
the  defaulter,  the  burglar,  and  the  picker  of  pock- 
ets. The  fact  that  he  does  not  get  there,  but  fares 
sumptuously  in  a  palace  he  rears  with  his  ill-gotten 
gain,  is  one  of  the  chief  reasons  why  men  still  be- 
lieve and  hope  there  is  a  hell. 

The  other  type  of  stealing  which  flourishes  in 
modern  conditions  is  the  misuse  of  one's  repre- 
sentative or  delegated  influence.  A  thief  of  this 
sort  uses  his  position  in  one  corporation  to  let 


68  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

favorable  contracts  to  himself  in  another  corpo- 
ration in  which  he  is  directly  or  indirectly  con- 
cerned. He  uses  his  position  as  purchasing  or  sell-' 
ing  agent  for  a  company  by  which  he  is  employed, 
to  induce  the  seller  or  buyer  to  make  a  special 
rebate  or  bonus  to  him  in  his  private  capacity; 
thus  charging  his  employer  with  an  unrecognized 
salary  in  addition  to  the  one  he  is  supposed  to 
receive.  He  uses  his  political  influence  to  promote 
his  personal  fortunes,  or  those  of  his  friends  and 
retainers,  at  the  public  expense.  Wherever  a  repre- 
sentative or  delegated  power  is  used  for  personal, 
private,  friendly,  family,  or  any  ends  whatever  other 
than  the  single  interests  of  the  constituents  or  firm 
or  institution  represented,  there  is  a  case  of  whole- 
sale stealing  of  the  second  type. 

Opportunities  for  the  successful  practice  of  these 
two  types  of  wholesale  stealing  are  incidental  to 
our  highly  complex  political  and  industrial  life. 
Exceptional  talent  and  industry  and  enterprise  may 
8tiU  manage  to  make  money  without  them.  But 
most  of  the  great  fortunes  which  are  rapidly  made 
rest  on  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  types  of  theft. 
The  temptations  to  resort  to  them  in  these  days 
are  tremendous.  Yet  it  is  no  new  discovery  that 
wrongdoing  is  profitable  and  easy,  while  virtue  is 
costly  and  hard.  The  first  step  toward  righteous- 
ness in  these  matters  is  to  define  clearly,  in  modem 
terms,  what  honesty  is ;  and  to  brand  all  whose 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  59 

gains  rest  on  the  losses  of  others  as  the  thieves  and 
villains  they  are. 

Justice,  if  left  to  the  feeble  hands  of  individuals, 
would  be  but  poorly  executed,  even  if  the  indi- 
viduals concerned  were  most  justly  and  generously 
disposed.  It  is  through  institutions  that  justice 
most  effectively  works.  Loyalty  to  institutions  is 
a  higher  and  more  universal  form  of  justice. 

Loyalty  to  the  family  involves  the  recognition 
that  the  family  is  prior  to  the  individual.  Into  the 
family  we  are  born  ;  by  our  parents  we  are  trained 
and  reared ;  from  parents,  brothers,  and  sisters  we 
first  learn  hfe's  most  precious  lesson  of  love.  The 
loyal  son  must  ever  hold  the  family  as  a  dearer 
and  better  seH.  Its  interest  must  be  his  interest; 
its  requirements,  his  wiU;  its  members,  members 
of  himself,  to  be  honored,  cherished,  defended,  sup- 
ported, so  long  as  he  has  strength  and  means  to 
support  them,  heart  and  soul  wherewith  to  love. 

Loyalty  to  one's  own  home  carries  with  it,  as 
its  counterpart,  a  respect  for  the  home  and  family 
life  of  others.  Chastity  is  the  great  virtue  that 
guards  the  sanctity  of  the  home.  Approached  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  family  and  the  home,  chas- 
tity is  one  of  the  most  reasonable  and  imperative 
requirements  which  justice  and  loyalty  lay  upon 
men.  To  the  libertine  justice  puts  the  searching 
questions :  "  How  would  you  like  to  have  been  born 
as  the  product  of  the  passing  passion  of  a  man  who 


60  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

was  too  mean  to  acknowledge  either  you  or  your 
mother?  How  would  you  like  to  have  your  own 
sisters  treated  in  that  way?  How  would  you  like 
to  look  forward  to  rearing  your  own  daughters  for 
the  brief,  bitter  life  of  the  brothel  ?  "  These  are 
hard  questions,  no  doubt,  the  very  suggestion  of 
which  gives  one  a  feeling  of  horror.  But  just  those 
questions  the  libertine  must  answer  before  he  can 
ever  think  guiltlessly  of  a  licentious  life  for  him- 
self. For  these  wretched  women  whom  he  meets 
on  the  street  after  nightfall,  or  goes  to  a  brothel 
to  find,  were  once  the  dear  daughters  and  sisters 
of  fond  fathers  and  mothers  and  brothers ;  and 
God  meant  them  to  be  the  happy  wives  of  good 
husbands,  fond  mothers  of  sweet  children  to  grow 
up  and  honor  and  love  them  in  turn.  To  lead  one 
such  woman  astray,  or  to  patronize  an  institution 
which  ruins  such  women  by  the  wholesale,  is  to  be 
a  traitor  to  the  great  and  blessed  institution  of 
home ;  to  make  impossible  for  others  that  pure, 
sweet  family  life  to  which  we  owe  all  that  is  best 
in  our  own  lives,  and  which  holds  in  its  beneficent 
keeping  all  the  best  gifts  we  can  hope  to  hand 
down  to  our  children.  Chastity  is  no  mere  con- 
ventional virtue,  which  a  young  man  may  lightly 
ignore,  under  some  such  pretext  as  "  sowing  wild 
oats."  It  is  rooted  and  grounded  in  justice  to 
others,  and  loyalty  to  the  benign  institution  of 
home. 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN        61 

THE  COURAGE  OF  SPACE  AND  TIME 

If  man  were  merely  a  mind,  wisdom  to  see  par- 
ticular desires  in  the  light  of  their  permanent  con- 
sequences to  self,  and  justice  to  weigh  the  interests 
of  self  to  the  impartial  scales  of  a  due  regard  for 
the  interests  of  others,  would  together  sum  up  all 
virtue.  Knowledge,  in  these  two  forms,  would  be 
virtue,  as  Socrates  taught. 

We  feel,  however,  as  well  as  know.  Nature,  for 
purposes  of  her  own,  has  placed  the  premium  of 
pleasure  on  the  exercise  of  function,  and  attached 
the  penalty  of  pain  to  both  privation  of  such  exer- 
cise, on  the  one  hand,  and  over-exertion,  on  the 
other.  Nature,  too,  has  adjusted  the  scale  of  in- 
tensity of  pleasures  and  pains  to  her  own  ends ; 
placing  the  keenest  rewards  and  the  severest  penal- 
ties on  those  appetites  which,  like  nutrition  and 
reproduction,  are  most  essential  to  the  survival  of 
the  individual  and  the  race ;  thus  enforcing  by  her 
rough  process  of  natural  selection  a  crude  wisdom 
and  justice  of  her  own.  Moreover,  these  premiums 
and  penalties  were  adjusted  to  the  needs  of  the 
race  at  a  stage  of  evolution  when  scanty  and  pre- 
carious food-supply  and  a  high  death-rate,  due  to 
the  combined  inroads  of  war,  famine,  and  pesti- 
lence, rendered  nutrition  and  reproduction  of  vastly 
more  relative  urgency,  in  comparison  with  other 
interests,  than  they  are  to-day. 


62  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

Pleasure  and  pain,  therefore,  though  reliable 
guides  in  the  life  of  an  animal  struggling  for  exist- 
ence, are  not  reliable  guides  for  men  in  times  of 
artificial  plenty  and  elaborate  civilization.  To  fol- 
low the  strongest  appetites,  to  seek  the  intensest 
pleasures  and  shun  the  sharpest  pains,  is  simply  to 
revert  to  a  lower  stage  of  evolution,  and  live  the 
life  of  a  beast.  Hence  that  combat  of  the  moral 
nature  with  the  cosmic  process  to  which  Mr.  Hux- 
ley recently  recalled  our  attention ;  or  rather,  that 
combat  of  man  with  himself  which  Paul  and  Au- 
gustine, Plato  and  Hegel  have  more  profoundly 
expressed.  This  fact  that  Nature's  premiums  and 
penalties  are  distributed  on  an  entirely  different 
principle  from  that  which  wisdom  and  justice  mark 
out  for  the  civilized  man  renders  it  necessary  for 
wisdom  and  justice  to  summon  to  their  aid  two 
subordinate  virtues,  courage  and  temperance,  — 
courage  to  endure  the  pains  which  the  pursuit  of 
wisdom  and  justice  involves;  temperance  to  cut 
off  the  pleasures  which  are  inconsistent  with  the 
ends  which  wisdom  and  justice  set  before  us. 

The  wide,  permanent  ends  at  which  justice  and 
wisdom  aim  often  involve  what  is  in  itself,  and  for 
the  present,  disagreeable  and  painful.  The  acqui- 
sition of  a  competence  involves  hard  work,  when 
Nature  calls  for  rest ;  the  solution  of  a  problem 
requires  us  to  be  wide  awake,  when  Nature  urges 
sleep ;  the  advocacy  of  a  reform  involves  unpop- 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  63 

ularity,  when  Nature  suggests  the  advantages  of 
having  the  good  opinion  of  our  fellows ;  the  life  of 
the  country  calls  for  the  death  of  the  soldier,  when 
Nature  bids  him  chng  to  life  by  running  away. 

Now,  since  we  are  not  ascetics,  we  must  admit 
that  per  se  pleasure  is  preferable  to  pain.  If  it 
were  a  question  between  rest  and  work  when  weary, 
between  sleep  and  waking  when  tired  out,  between 
popularity  and  unpopularity,  between  life  and 
death,  every  sensible  man  would  choose  the  first 
alternatives  as  a  matter  of  course.  Wisdom  and 
justice,  however,  see  the  present  and  partial  pain 
as  part  of  a  wider  personal  and  social  good,  and 
order  that  the  pain  be  endured.  True  courage, 
therefore,  is  simply  the  executor  of  the  orders  of 
wisdom  and  justice.  The  wise  and  just  man,  who 
knows  what  he  wants,  and  is  bound  to  get  it  at  all 
costs,  is  the  only  man  who  can  be  truly  brave.  For  ( 
the  strength  of  one's  courage  is  simply  the  strength  ] 
of  the  wise  and  just  aims  which  he  holds.  All 
bravery  not  thus  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  vision 
of  some  larger  end  to  be  gained  is  mere  bravado 
and  bluster. 

Of  the  many  applications  of  courage,  two  of 
the  simplest  will  suffice  for  illustration :  the  cour- 
age of  space,  to  take  the  pains  to  keep  things  in 
order ;  and  the  courage  of  time,  to  be  punctual,  or 
even  ahead  of  the  hour,  when  a  hard  task  has  to 
be  done. 


64  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

Even  if  our  life  is  a  small,  sheltered  one,  even 
if  we  have  only  our  house  or  rooms  to  look  after, 
things  tend  to  get  out  of  order,  to  pile  themselves 
up  in  heaps,  to  get  out  of  our  reach  and  into  each 
other's  way.  To  leave  things  in  this  chaos  is  both 
unwise  and  unjust ;  for  it  will  trouble  us  in  the 
future,  and  trouble  the  people  who  have  to  live 
with  us.  Yet  it  costs  pain  and  effort  to  attack  this 
chaos  and  subject  it  to  order.  Endurance  of  pain, 
in  the  name  of  wisdom  and  justice,  to  secure  order 
for  our  own  future  comfort  and  the  comfort  of  our 
family  and  friends,  is  courage.  On  the  other  hand, 
to  leave  things  lying  in  confusion  around  us ;  to 
let  alien  forces  come  into  our  domain  and  encamp 
there  in  insolent  defiance  of  ourselves  and  our 
friends,  is  a  shameful  confession  that  things  are 
stronger  than  we.  To  be  thus  conquered  by  dead 
material  things  is  as  ignominious  a  defeat  as  can 
come  to  a  man.  The  man  who  can  be  conquered 
by  things  is  a  coward  in  the  strict  ethical  sense  of 
the  term ;  that  is,  he  lacks  the  strength  of  will  to 
bear  the  incidental  pains  which  his  personal  and 
social  interests  put  upon  him. 

The  courage  of  time  is  punctuality.  When  there 
is  a  hard  piece  of  work  to  be  done,  it  is  pleasanter 
far  to  sit  at  ease  for  the  present,  and  put  off  the 
work.  "  The  thousand  nothings  of  the  hour  "  claim 
our  attention.  The  coward  yields  to  "  their  stupe- 
fying power,"  and  the  great  task  remains  forever 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  65 

undone.  The  brave  man  brushes  these  conflicting 
claims  into  the  background,  stops  his  ears  until  the 
sirens'  voices  are  silent,  stamps  on  his  feelings  as 
though  they  were  snakes  in  his  path,  and  does  the 
thing  now  which  ever  after  he  will  rejoice  to  have 
done.  In  these  crowded  modern  days,  the  only 
man  who  "  finds  time  "  for  great  things  is  the  man 
who  takes  it  by  violence  from  the  thousands  of 
petty,  local,  temporary  claims,  and  makes  it  serve 
the  ends  of  wisdom  and  justice. 

There  are  three  places  where  one  may  draw  the 
line  for  getting  a  piece  of  work  done.  One  man 
draws  it  habitually  a  few  minutes  or  hours  or  days 
after  it  is  due.  He  is  always  in  distress,  and  a 
nuisance  to  everybody  else.  There  is  no  dignity 
in  a  life  that  is  as  perpetually  behind  its  appoint- 
ments as  a  tail  is  in  the  rear  of  a  dog. 

It  is  very  risky  —  ethically  speaking,  it  is  cow- 
ardly —  to  draw  the  line  at  the  exact  date  when 
the  work  is  due  ;  for  then  one  is  at  the  mercy  of 
any  accident  or  interruption  that  may  overtake 
him  at  the  end  of  his  allotted  time.  If  he  is  sick  or 
a  friend  dies,  or  unforeseen  complications  arise,  he 
is  as  badly  off  as  the  man  who  deliberately  planned 
to  be  late,  and  almost  as  much  to  blame.  For  a  man 
who  leaves  the  possibility  of  accident  and  interrup- 
tion out  of  account,  and  stakes  the  welfare  of  him- 
self and  of  others  on  such  miscalculation,  is  neither 
wise  nor  just;  he  is  reckless  rather  than  brave. 


66  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

Even  if  accidents  do  not  come,  lie  is  walkiQg  on 
the  perilous  edge  all  the  time  ;  his  work  is  done  in 
a  fever  of  haste  and  anxiety,  injurious  alike  to  the 
quality  of  the  work  and  the  health  of  the  worker. 

The  man  who  puts  the  courage  of  punctuality 
into  his  work  wiU  draw  the  line  for  finishing  a  piece 
of  work  a  safe  period  inside  the  time  when  it  is 
actually  due.  If  one  forms  the  habit  and  sticks  to 
it,  it  is  no  harder  to  have  work  done  ten  days,  or 
at  least  one  day,  ahead  of  time  than  to  finish  it  at 
the  last  allowable  minute.  Then,  if  anything  hap- 
pens, it  does  no  harm.  This  habit  will  save  literary 
workers  an  incalculable  amount  of  anxiety  and 
worry.  And  it  is  the  wear  and  tear  of  worry  and 
hurry,  not  the  amount  of  calm,  quiet  work,  that 
kills  such  men  before  their  time. 

I  am  aware  that  orderliness  and  punctuality  are 
not  usually  regarded  as  forms  of  courage.  But  the 
essential  element  of  all  courage  is  in  them,  —  the 
power  to  face  a  disagreeable  present  in  the  interest 
of  desirable  permanent  ends.  They  are  far  more 
important  in  modem  life  than  the  courage  to  face 
bears  or  bullets.  They  underlie  the  more  spectacu- 
lar forms  of  courage.  The  man  who  cannot  reduce 
to  order  the  things  that  are  lying  passively  about 
him,  and  endure  the  petty  pains  incidental  to  doing 
hard  things  before  the  sheer  lapse  of  time  forces 
him  to  action,  is  not  the  man  who  will  be  calm  and 
composed  when  angry  mobs  are  howling  about  him. 


THE   COLLEGE   MAN  67 

or  who  will  go  steadily  on  his  way  when  greed  and 
corruption,  hypocrisy  and  hate,  are  arrayed  to  resist 
him.  For,  whether  in  the  quiet  of  a  study  and  the 
routine  of  an  office  or  in  the  turmoil  of  a  riot  or  a 
strike,  true  courage  is  the  ready  and  steadfast  ac- 
ceptance of  whatever  pains  are  incidental  to  secur- 
ing the  personal  and  public  ends  that  are  at  stake. 

TEMPERANCE   IN   DRUGS 

Temperance  is  closely  akin  to  courage ;  for  as 
courage  takes  on  the  pains  which  wisdom  and  jus- 
tice find  incidental  to  their  ends,  so  temperance  cuts 
off  remorselessly  whatever  pleasures  are  inconsis- 
tent with  these  ends.  The  temperate  man  does  not 
hate  pleasure,  any  more  than  the  brave  man  loves 
pain,  for  its  own  sake.  It  is  not  that  he  loves  pleas- 
ure less,  but  that  he  loves  wisdom  and  justice  more. 
He  puts  the  satisfaction  of  his  permanent  and 
social  self  over  against  the  fleeting  satisfaction  of 
some  isolated  appetite,  and  cuts  off  the  little  pleas- 
ure to  gain  the  lasting  personal  and  social  good. 
There  is  a  remark  of  Hegel  which  gives  the  key  to 
all  true  temperance :  "  In  the  eye  of  fate  all  action 
is  guilt."  Since  we  are  finite,  to  do  one  thing  is  to 
neglect  all  the  competing  alternative  courses.  We 
cannot  have  our  cake  and  eat  it  too.  As  James 
puts  it :  "  Not  that  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  be 
both  handsome  and  fat  and  well-dressed  and  a  great 
athlete,  and  make  a  million  a  year ;  be  a  wit,  a 


68  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

honr^ivant^  and  a  lady-killer,  as  well  as  a  philoso* 
pher;  a  philanthropist,  statesman,  warrior,  and 
African  explorer,  as  well  as  a '  tone-poet '  and  saint. 
But  the  thing  is  simply  impossible.  The  million- 
aire's work  would  run  counter  to  the  saint's ;  the 
bovrvivant  and  the  philanthropist  would  trip  each 
other  up  ;  and  the  philosopher  and  the  lady-killer 
could  not  weU  keep  house  in  the  same  tenement  of 
clay.  So  the  seeker  of  his  truest,  strongest,  deepest 
seK  must  review  the  list  carefully,  and  pick  out  the 
one  on  which  to  stake  his  salvation." 

Some  selection  there  must  be  between  competing 
and  mutually  exclusive  goods.  The  intemperate 
man  selects  what  appeals  most  forcibly  to  his  sen- 
sibilities at  the  moment.  The  temperate  man  se- 
lects that  which  best  fits  his  permanent  ends.  There 
is  sacrifice  in  either  case.  The  intemperate  man 
sacrifices  his  permanent  and  social  self  to  his  tran- 
sient physical  sensations.  The  temperate  man  sac- 
rifices his  transient  sensations  in  the  interest  of  his 
permanent  and  social  self. 

The  temptation  to  intemperance  comes  chiefly 
from  a  false  abstraction  of  pleasure.  Finding  that 
some  function  is  attended  with  pleasure,  we  per- 
form the  function  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure,  for- 
getting to  consider  the  end  at  which  the  function 
aims,  or  even  disregarding  the  end  altogether.  A 
man  seizes  on  one  or  another  of  the  more  sensitive 
parts  of  his  nervous  system,  and  then  contrives  ways 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  69 

to  produce  constant  or  frequently  recurrent  excita- 
tion. Thus  the  glutton  crams  his  stomach,  not  for 
the  nourishment  and  vigor  food  will  give  him,  but 
for  the  sensations  of  agreeable  taste  and  comfortable 
distention.  Muscle  must  toil,  brain  must  plan,  and 
every  other  organ  do  extra  work,  simply  to  give 
the  palate  its  transient  titillation  and  provide  the 
stomach  its  periodic  gorge.  The  drunkard  gets  the 
whole  sympathetic  system  of  nerves  into  an  excita- 
tion so  intense  as  to  drive  away  all  concern  for  other 
things,  and  fill  his  consciousness  completely  full  of 
the  glorious  sense  that  all  is  well  with  his  physical 
organism.  Tobacco  gives  a  pleasure  still  farther 
removed  from  any  rational  end.  With  a  minimum 
of  physical  substance,  a  man  can  get  the  sensation 
of  working  his  jaws  and  lungs,  secreting  saliva,  and 
being  in  a  tranquil  state  of  body  and  mind. 

Yet  if  one  is  bound  to  have  agreeable  sensations, 
regardless  of  their  permanent  effects,  there  is  a  way, 
quick,  sure,  cheap,  refined,  convenient,  unobtrusive, 
far  beyond  the  crude,  clumsy  devices  of  glutton, 
drunkard,  snuff-taker,  chewer,  or  smoker.  With  a 
powder  so  small  that  it  can  be  held  on  the  tip  of  a 
penknife,  with  a  tablet  a  whole  bottle  of  which  can 
be  carried  in  the  pocket,  with  a  drop  injected  by 
the  hypodermic  syringe,  one  may  invoke  the  magic 
potency  of  morphine,  hashish,  or  cocaine. 

Such  are  the  latest  refinements  of  intemperance, 
the  most  improved  devices  for  stimulating  our  phys* 


70  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

ical  and  nervous  functions  into  pleasurable  activity, 
apart  from  aU  consideration  of  the  normal  ends  the 
functions  were  evolved  to  serve.  It  would  be  easy 
to  hold  them  up  to  ridicule.  If,  in  a  book  of  travels, 
we  were  to  read  of  a  tribe  in  some  remote  island 
who  spent  a  large  portion  of  their  substance  gorg- 
ing themselves  with  a  dozen  kinds  of  food  at  a  sin- 
gle meal ;  pouring  down  liquid  which  made  them 
silly  and  stupid,  and  therefore  careless  and  happy ; 
stuffing  vegetable  matter  up  their  noses,  or  chewing 
it  and  spitting  out  the  juice,  or  rolling  it  up  in 
tubes,  or  putting  it  in  bowls  and  setting  fire  to  it 
for  the  fun  of  pulling  the  smoke  into  their  mouths 
and  puffing  it  out  again ;  or  injecting  under  their 
skins  substances  which  would  make  them  lose  aU 
sense  of  reality  and  responsibility,  and  live  in  a 
dream  world  where  wishes  were  horses  and  beggars 
might  ride ;  and  if  we  had  never  heard  of  such 
practices  before,  we  should  not  rank  them  very 
high  in  the  scale  of  civilization. 

Yet  we  cannot,  if  we  would,  dispose  of  these 
forms  of  intemperance  by  ridicule.  In  each  case 
some  pleasure  is  gained,  and  that  pleasure  is  so  far 
forth  a  real  good.  Let  us  be  serious  and  fair  with 
them  all. 

The  glutton's  gorging  of  his  stomach,  in  so  far 
as  it  produces  a  pleasurable  feeling  of  distention, 
is  good.  If  a  man  were  nothing  but  a  stomach,  and 
that  were  made  of  cast  iron,  then  gluttony  would 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  71 

be  not  only  good,  but  the  highest  good.  If  a  man 
were  nothing  but  a  bundle  of  nerves,  and  these 
were  of  wire  and  never  subject  to  reaction,  then  the 
man  who  could  keep  them  thrilling  most  intensely 
by  whiskey  and  champagne  would  be  the  wisest 
one  of  us  all.  So  if  man  were  nothing  but  a  nose, 
and  that  had  the  lining  of  a  boiler,  then  snuff- 
taking  would  be  the  acme  of  virtue.  If  man  were 
reduced  to  a  pair  of  huge  jaws,  the^  chewing  would 
be  virtue  for  him.  If  one  were  a  heating-plant 
chimney,  then  smoking  would  be  the  best  he  could 
do.  If  a  man  need  do  nothing  but  dream,  then  to 
neglect  the  joys  of  opium  or  cocaine  would  be 
superlative  folly. 

The  evil  of  these  things  is  due  to  the  greater 
good  they  displace.  Man  is  more  than  stomach  or 
nerves  or  nose  or  jaws  or  chimney  or  dreamer ;  and 
indulgence  in  these  departments  of  his  life,  unless 
very  carefully  controlled  and  restricted,  involves 
injury  to  more  important  sides  of  life,  out  of  all 
proportion  to  the  petty  gains  in  these  special  de- 
partments in  question. 

The  folly  or  evil  of  these  practices  differs  greatly 
in  degree,  though  they  are  all  branches  from  the 
same  psychological  root,  —  the  quest  of  sensations 
divorced  from  the  normal  ends  the  stimulated  func- 
tions serve.  The  list  of  branches  from  this  same  root 
could  easily  be  enlarged.  Theoretically,  the  high- 
est wisdom,  the  strictest  temperance,  would  elimi- 


72  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

nate  them  all ;  not,  however,  on  ascetic  grounds,  but 
on  the  rational  ground  that  the  wisest  man  can  find 
better  use  for  his  time  and  money,  his  vitality  and 
strength,  than  in  any  of  these  abnormally  evoked 
sensations.  Yet,  practically,  something  must  be  con- 
ceded to  human  weakness  and  infirmity.  To  say 
that  all  these  things  are  theoretically  foolish,  and 
therefore  immoral,  does  not  carry  with  it  the  posi- 
tion that  every  man  is  a  fool  and  a  knave  who 
practices  them.  Gluttony,  the  use  of  snuff,  and 
chewing,  once  as  prevalent  and  popular  among 
those  who  could  afford  them  as  smoking  is  now, 
have  receded  before  the  advancing  march  of  a 
higher  civilization,  until  they  are  hardly  consistent 
with  our  ideas  of  a  gentleman.  Drunkenness  is 
rapidly  going  into  the  same  category.  A  century 
ago  a  man  was  thought  no  less  a  gentleman  because 
he  was  occasionally  or  even  frequently  drunk.  To- 
day, a  man  who  permits  himself  to  be  seen  drunk 
is  not  wanted  for  employee  or  partner  or  son-in-law 
or  intimate  friend.  The  victim  of  drug  habits  we 
all  pity,  loathe,  and  distrust.  Moderate  drinking 
and  smoking  are  the  two  forms  in  which  the  quest 
for  abnormal  or  non-functional  sensation  is  stiU  in 
vogue.  All  the  other  forms  of  intemperance  cited 
have  so  far  received  the  stigma  of  social  disappro- 
val that  their  gradual  descent  through  lower  and 
lower  strata  of  society  to  final  disuse  is  merely  a 
question  of  time. 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  7d^ 

Moderate  drinking  and  smoking  undoubtedly 
have  still  a  long  lease  of  life.  There  is  a  good  deal 
to  be  said  in  behalf  of  them  both.  Moderate  drink- 
ing temporarily  aids  digestion,  increases  good-fel- 
lowship, dispels  anxiety  and  care,  and  serves  one  of 
the  two  purposes  of  food.  "We  all  know  multitudes 
of  men  who  have  practiced  it  for  years,  and  are  ap- 
parently little  the  worse  for  it.  To  them  its  discon- 
tinuance would  be  a  real  hardship ;  costing,  perhaps, 
in  mental  strain  and  effort  and  temporary  physical 
discomfort,  more  than  the  resulting  physical  gain 
to  themselves  as  individuals.  That  multitudes  of 
people  will  continue  the  practice,  and  wiU  do  so 
imder  the  impression,  right  or  wrong,  that  they  are 
doing  what  is  wisest  and  best  for  themselves,  there 
can  be  no  doubt.  Such  people  are  not  to  be  con- 
demned as  intemperate.  Whatever  the  final  ver- 
dict of  physiology  may  be,  so  long  as  these  people 
believe  on  the  testimony  of  expert  authorities  whose 
judgment  they  trust,  and  on  their  own  experience 
so  far  as  they  are  competent  to  interpret  it,  that 
moderation  in  the  use  of  alcoholic  drink  is  good  for 
them,  they  are  wise  and  temperate  in  its  use.  For 
morality  is  not  a  matter  of  right  or  wroug  opinion 
about  physiological  or  social  questions.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion of  personal  attitude  towards  the  opinions  which 
one  holds. 

The  man,  however,  who  knows  or  believes  that  it 
injures  him,  and  helps  materially  to  injure  others, 


74  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

and  still  continues  to  use  it,  thereby  confesses  him- 
self to  be  a  fool  and  a  slave,  and  merits  our  severe 
condemnation.  The  fundamental  elements  of  man- 
hood are  wanting  in  that  man.  His  rank  is  lower 
than  the  beasts ;  for  they  cannot  violate  a  reason 
they  do  not  possess.  Instinct  does  for  them  what 
the  consciously  intemperate  man  lacks  the  stamina 
to  do  for  himself.  In  view  of  the  doubtful  nature 
of  the  gain  which  moderate  use  of  alcoholic  liquor 
brings  even  to  those  who  interpret  temporary  ex- 
hilaration as  permanent  benefit ;  in  view  of  the 
danger  that  moderation  will  slip  into  excess,  and 
be  caught  in  the  chains  of  habit ;  in  view  of  the 
havoc  and  misery  which  liquor  causes  in  the  world ; 
in  view  of  the  extreme  difficulty  of  securing  the 
temperate  individual  use  without  complicity  in  its 
terrible  social  abuse ;  in  view  of  the  certainty  that  in 
the  long  run  the  individual  would  be  quite  as  well 
off  without  it,  and  that  society  as  a  whole  would  be 
infinitely  the  gainer  if  it  were  universally  discarded 
as  a  beverage,  —  the  man  who  seeks  to  be  guided 
in  his  life  by  the  highest  wisdom  and  the  sanest 
temperance,  though  he  have  not  a  particle  of  ascet- 
icism in  his  make-up,  though  he  grudge  no  man 
the  joy  he  gets  from  a  social  glass,  though  he  will 
judge  no  man  who  conscientiously  uses  it  as  either 
morally  or  spiritually  inferior  to  himself  in  conse- 
quence, yet,  in  the  present  state  of  physiological 
knowledge  and  the  existing  social  conditions  that 


THE  COLLEGE   MAN  76 

attend  the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks  as  a  beverage, 
will  find  the  better  part  for  himself  and  the  high- 
est service  to  society  in  a  moderation  so  strict  as 
to  amount  to  practical  abstinence. 

Smoking,  so  easily  disposed  of  on  ascetic  princi- 
ples, presents,  from  our  point  of  view,  a  very  diffi- 
cult and  delicate  question.  There  is  a  good  deal  to 
be  said  in  its  behalf.  It  is  a  solace  of  solitude.  It 
is  a  substitute  for  exercise.  It  promotes  digestion. 
It  brings  people  together  on  terms  of  easy  and  rest- 
ful intimacy ;  taking  away  the  chill  and  stiffness 
from  social  intercourse,  much  as  an  open  fire  in  the 
fireplace  adds  a  cheer  to  a  room,  quite  independent 
of  the  warmth  it  generates.  The  advantages  from 
smoking  are  not  confined  exclusively  to  the  imme- 
diate physical  sensation. 

Futhermore,  when  once  the  habit  is  established, 
the  body  adapts  itself  to  it,  and  contrives,  through 
lungs,  skin,  and  kidneys,  —  though  not  without 
scenting  the  clothing  with  foul  exhalations,  and 
tainting  the  breath  with  offensive  odors,  —  to  throw 
the  poison  off.  Hence  men  who  have  once  formed 
the  habit ;  who  feel  that  they  can  afford  its  con- 
siderable expense,  and  can  find  no  better  use  for 
the  money  it  represents ;  who  gain  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure  from  it,  and  are  able  to  detect  no  serious 
physical  effects,  may  well  believe  (although,  if  they 
were  to  look  the  matter  up  impartially,  the  weight 
of  scientific  testimony  would  be  against  them)  that, 


76  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

on  the  whole,  for  them,  situated  as  they  are,  the 
continuance  of  the  habit  represents  the  greater 
good.  Here,  again,  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge  indi- 
viduals. All  we  can  say  is  that  this  is  a  possible,  if 
not  the  impartial  and  scientific  way  of  looking  at 
the  matter.  Many  do  look  at  it  in  that  light.  In 
so  far  as  they  are  honest  in  taking  that  view  of  the 
matter,  they  are  wise  and  temperate  in  smoking 
as  they  do.  If,  however,  they  know  it  is  injuring 
them;  if  they  have  a  sneaking  suspicion,  which 
they  dare  not  follow  up  with  a  thorough  investiga- 
tion, that  the  practice  is  injurious  in  general,  and 
is  harming  themselves  in  particular,  then  they  are 
fools  and  slaves  to  persist  in  the  practice.  But 
that  is  a  judgment  which  the  individual,  who  alone 
knows  the  facts  from  the  inside,  must  be  left  to 
pass  upon  himself.  We  who  stand  on  the  outside 
cannot  get  at  the  inner  facts,  and  so  have  no  right 
to  pass  such  a  judgment.  At  all  events,  the  young 
man  who  would  attune  his  ILf^  to  the  highest  wis- 
dom, and  control  it  by  the  firmest  temperance,  wiU 
not  permit  himself  to  form  the  habit  before  he  has 
attained  his  full  physical  and  mental  stature,  and 
has  proved  his  ability  with  his  own  hand  or  brain 
to  earn  for  himself  whatever  necessities  and  com- 
forts of  life  he  believes  to  be  more  fundamental 
and  important  than  the  inhalation  and  exhalation 
of  smoke. 

Let  us  be  careful  not  to  confound  a  wise  temper- 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  77 

ance  witli  the  absurdities  and  rigors  of  asceticism. 
Asceticism  hates  pleasure,  and  sets  itself  up  as  some- 
thing superior  to  pleasure.  Hence  it  is  sour,  nar- 
row, repulsive.  As  Macaulay  said  of  the  Puritans, 
"  They  hated  bear-baiting,  not  because  it  gave 
pain  to  the  bear,  but  because  it  gave  pleasure  to 
the  spectators  ; "  so  the  ascetic  seems  to  hate  the 
pleasure  there  is  in  things,  and  to  begrudge  other 
people  their  joys  and  consolations.  Temperance 
work  has  too  often  fallen  into  the  hands  of  these 
ascetic  cranks,  who  pose  as  the  apostles  and  mar- 
tyrs of  the  true  and  only  temperance. 

True  temperance  is  modest.  It  is  nothing  in 
itself,  but,  like  courage,  simply  the  handmaid  of 
wisdom  and  justice  to  carry  out  their  commands. 
Temperance  does  not  hate  pleasure.  Temperance 
loves  pleasure  more  wisely  —  that  is  all.  The 
temperate  man  recognizes  that  the  pleasure  of  an 
act  is  a  pretty  sure  indication  that  the  act  has 
some  elements  of  good.  But  temperance  denies  that 
pleasure  is  an  indication  of  the  relative  worth  of 
different  acts.  Reason,  not  pleasure  alone,  must 
decide  that  point.  Temperance  never  cuts  off  an 
indulgence,  unless  it  be  to  save  some  greater  and 
more  valuable  interest  of  life.  Temperance  is  al- 
ways, if  it  is  modest,  and  keeps  its  proper  place 
as  the  handmaid  of  wisdom,  engaged  in  cutting  off 
a  lesser  to  save  a  greater  good.  Its  weapon  and 
symbol  is  the  pruning-knif  e  ;  and  its  aim  and  justi- 


78  GREEK  QUALITIES  IN 

fication  is  that  the  vine  of  life  may  bear  more  and 
better  fruit.  To  erect  temperance  into  a  positive 
principle,  to  be  merely  a  temperance  man  or  wo- 
man, to  cut  off  the  fair  leaves  of  pleasure  merely 
for  the  sake  of  cutting  them  off,  is  monstrous,  un- 
natural, perverse.  The  great  moral  motive  power 
of  life  must  lie  in  the  positive  and  pleasurable 
interests  which  wisdom  and  justice  and  faith  and 
love  lay  hold  upon.  To  cast  out  evil  as  an  end  in 
itself  is  as  futile  as  to  try  to  drive  the  air  out  of 
a  room  with  a  fan. 

Temperance,  indeed,  often  finds  itself  arrayed 
against  the  lower  and  intenser  forms  of  pleasure. 
That  is  because,  for  purposes  of  her  own.  Nature 
has  attached  the  keenest  pleasure  to  those  instincts 
wliich  are  most  fundamental  to  the  preservation  of 
the  individual  and  the  perpetuation  of  the  spe- 
cies. But  temperance,  if  it  be  wise,  —  if,  that  is,  it 
be  truly  moral,  —  must  ever  justify  itself  by  those 
personal  and  social  goods  at  which  wisdom  and 
justice  aim.  Hence  temperance,  though  an  impor- 
tant virtue  in  its  place,  is  yet  a  strictly  subordinate 
one.  No  man  can  amount  to  much  without  con- 
stant practice  of  stem  self-denial  and  rigid  self- 
control.  But  a  man  who  does  nothing  but  that ; 
the  man  who  erects  temperance  into  a  positive 
principle,  who  believes  that  the  pruning-knife  can 
bear  fruit  of  itself,  and  despises  the  rich  soil  that 
feeds  the  roots  and  the  sweet  sap  that  nourishes 


THE  COLLEGE  MAN  79 

the  branches  of  the  vine  of  life,  is  no  man  at  all. 
The  measure  and  value  of  our  temperance  is,  not 
the  indulgences  which  we  lop  off  from  the  branches 
of  life  here  and  there,  but  the  beauty  and  sweet- 
ness and  worth  of  the  fruit  which  is  borne  by  our 
lives  as  a  whole. 

Such  are  the  counsels  a  Greek  philosopher  would 
give  us,  could  he  return  to  earth  to-day.  Would 
give,  I  say ;  for  I  am  well  aware  that  the  points  I 
have  chosen  for  illustration  are,  for  the  most  part, 
points  on  which  Plato  and  Aristotle  touched  very 
lightly,  if  at  all ;  and  that  on  the  most  important 
of  them  their  precept  and  practice  were  in  open  con- 
tradiction to  the  precepts  I  here  have  set  forth. 
I  have  followed  the  logic  of  their  principles  rather 
than  the  letter  of  their  precepts.  Like  a  fluid  in 
connected  vessels,  the  spiritual  life  of  an  age  cannot 
rise,  in  its  ethical  precept  and  practice,  above  the 
level  of  the  prevailing  religious  conceptions,  literary 
standards,  political  institutions,  and  social  customs. 
No  one  knew  this  better  than  Plato,  as  is  evident 
from  his  attack  on  the  current  literary  and  religious 
standards  of  his  day,  and  his  attempt  to  construct 
an  ideal  republic,  where  philosophers  should  be 
kings.  Christianity,  democracy,  and  the  deepening 
recognition  of  the  rights  of  personality  in  men  and 
women,  children  and  servants,  have  lifted  the  level 
of  spiritual  life  to  heights  imdreamed  of  by  Plato, 


80  GREEK  QUALITIES 

and  pronounced  by  Aristotle  to  be  impossible.  On 
this  higher  level,  the  old  formulas  of  the  Greeks 
receive  a  vastly  richer  content  and  an  infinitely 
wider  application  ;  but  as  forms  of  statement  they 
never  have  been  and  never  will  be  surpassed. 

However  deep,  and  wide,  and  full  man's  life, 
under  Christian  influence  and  inspiration,  may 
come  to  be,  it  will  ever  retain  the  form  the  old 
Greeks  stamped  upon  it.  Man  will  ever  approach 
perfection  in  proportion  to  the  wisdom  with  which 
he  grasps  the  permanent  ends  of  his  life,  and  sub- 
ordinates all  means  to  those  ends ;  the  justice  with 
which  he  weighs  the  interests  of  his  fellows  in  the 
same  scales  as  his  own ;  the  courage  with  which  he 
greets  all  pains  incidental  to  the  prosecution  of  his 
own  ends  and  those  of  his  fellows ;  and  the  tem- 
perance with  which  he  cuts  off  whatever  pleasure 
proves  inconsistent  with  the  steadfast  adherence 
to  these  personal  and  social  ends.  For  thus  to  live 
a  wise,  just,  brave,  temperate  life  is  to  be  rightly 
related  to  the  world,  to  one's  fellows,  and  to  one's 
true  self ;  and  therefore  sums  up,  as  far  as  ethics 
apart  from  politics  and  religion  can  do  it,  aU  the 
virtues  and  duties  of  man. 


IV  ^ 

The  Career  of  Self-Conquest 

I.   FORESIGHT  AND   REPENTANCE 

SINCE  psychology  and  ethics  are  partners,  ethics 
is  bound  to  take  the  first  chance  to  return 
psychology's  lead.  As  long  as  psychology  put  full- 
fledged  faculties  of  free  will  and  conscience  into  the 
soul's  original  outfit,  it  was  all  very  well  for  ethics 
to  respond  with  inexplicable  intuitions  and  categori- 
cal imperatives.  Now  that  psychology  is  telling  us 
that  the  will  is  simply  "  the  sum  total  of  our  mental 
states  in  so  far  as  they  involve  attentive  guidance 
of  conduct,"  and  its  sole  sphere  of  action  "  the 
attentive  furthering  of  our  interest  in  one  act  or 
desire  as  against  all  others  present  to  our  minds  at 
the  same  time,"  ethics  can  no  longer  put  us  off  with 
cut  and  dried  rules  for  keeping  a  fixed,  formal  self 
out  of  mischief,  but  must  show  us  how,  from  the 
raw  materials  of  appetites,  passions,  and  instincts, 
with  the  customs,  institutions,  and  ideals  of  the  race 
for  our  models,  to  create,  each  man  for  himself,  an 
individuality  of  ever  tightening  coherence  and  ever 
expanding  dimensions. 

This  twofold  task,  to  preserve  the  unity  of  life  at 
the  same  time  that  we  multiply  and  magnify  the 


82     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

interests  we  unify,  gives  to  ethics  at  once  its  diffi- 
culty and  its  zest.  Either  half  of  this  task  would 
be  easy  and  stupid.  If  unification,  simplicity,  peace, 
is  our  sole  aim,  we  have  but  to  call  in  the  monks  and 
the  mystics,  the  lamas  and  the  mental  healers,  for 
a  haK-dozen  lessons  and  treatments.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  aim  at  bulk,  complexity,  tension, 
almost  any  business  man,  or  club  woman,  or  "  globe- 
trotter," or  debauchee  can  teach  us  as  much  as 
that.  To  challenge  the  simple  unity  of  our  habitual 
lives  by  every  interest  that  promises  enlargement 
and  enrichment,  and  in  turn  to  challenge  each  new 
interest  in  the  name  of  a  singleness  of  purpose 
which  it  may  stretch  as  much  as  it  please,  but  on 
no  account  shall  break,  —  this  double  task  is  hard 
indeed ;  the  zest  of  this  game  is  great. 

In  a  task  so  difficult  as  this  of  relating  ever  new 
materials  to  each  other  in  the  unity  of  an  organic 
whole,  failure  is  the  only  roadway  to  success.  For 
there  are  ten  thousand  possible  combinations  of  our 
appetites,  desires,  interests,  and  affections,  of  which 
only  one  precise,  definite  way  can  be  right,  and  all 
the  rest  must  be  wrong.  As  Aristotle  learned  from 
the  Pythagoreans,  virtue  is  definite  or  limited  ;  vice 
is  indefinite,  or  infinite.  It  is  so  easy  to  miss  the 
mark  that  any  fool  can  be  vicious  ;  so  hard  to  hit 
it  that  the  strongest  man's  first  efforts  go  astray. 
"  Adam's  fall "  was  foreordained  by  stronger  powers 
than  even  the  decree  of  a  God.    For  every  son  of 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     83 

Adam,  sin,  or  the  missing  of  the  perfect  mark,  is  a 
psychological  necessity.  Nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  prevent  a  man's  first,  experimental  adjust- 
ments of  his  environment  to  himseK  from  being  the 
failures  they  are.  For  in  every  art  and  craft,  in 
every  game  and  sport  where  skill  is  involved,  the 
progressive  elimination  of  errors  is  the  only  way  to 
a  perfection  which  is  ever  approximated,  but  never 
completely  attained. 

Yet  the  difficulty  of  the  moral  life  is  at  the  same 
time  its  glory.  For  the  very  source  of  the  difficulty 
may  be  turned  into  a  weapon  of  conquest.  The 
difficulty  is  all  due  to  the  organic  connection  of  ex- 
perience. If  experiences  stood  alone,  disconnected, 
the  moral  problem  would  be  simple  indeed.  Hun- 
ger feasting  is  better  than  hunger  starved ;  thirst 
drinking  is  better  than  thirst  unquenched  ;  weari- 
ness resting  is  better  than  weariness  at  work.  If 
the  feast,  or  the  drink,  or  the  rest  were  the  only 
things  to  be  considered,  then  the  gratification  of 
each  desire  as  fast  as  it  arose  would  be  the  whole 
duty  of  man.  None  but  a  fool  could  err.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  wise  man  would  be  no  better  off 
than  the  fool.  There  would  be  no  use  for  his  wis- 
dom, no  world  of  morals  to  conquer. 

Foresight  is  the  first  great  step  in  this  career  of 
moral  conquest.  The  mind  within  and  the  world 
without  are  parallel  streams  of  close-linked  se- 
quences, in  which  what  goes  in  as  present  cause 


84     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

comes  out  as  future  effect.  This  linkage  at  the 
same  time  binds  and  sets  us  free.  It  binds  us  to 
the  effect,  if  we  take  the  cause.  It  sets  us  free  in 
the  effect,  if  the  effect  is  foreseen,  and  the  cause 
is  chosen  with  a  view  to  the  effect.  These  streams 
of  sequence  repeat  themselves.  They  are  reducible 
to  constant  types.  They  can  be  accepted  or  rejected 
as  wholes.  To  accept  such  a  whole,  taking  an  un- 
desirable present  cause  for  the  sake  of  a  desirable 
future  effect,  is  active  foresight,  or  courage.  To 
reject  a  whole,  foregoing  a  desired  present  cause  in 
order  to  escape  an  undesirable  future  effect,  is  pas- 
sive foresight,  or  temperance.  Foresight  reads  into 
present  appetite  its  future  meaning ;  and  if  backed 
up  by  temperance  and  courage,  rejects  or  accepts 
the  immediate  gratification  according  as  its  total 
effect  is  repugnant  or  desirable. 

It  is  at  this  pomt  that  vice  creeps  into  life.  If 
virtue  is  choosing  the  whole  life  history,  so  far  as  it 
can  be  foreseen,  in  each  gratification  or  repression 
of  a  particular  desire,  vice  is  the  sacrificing  of  the 
whole  self  to  a  single  desire.    How  is  this  possible? 

Partly  through  ignorance  or  lack  of  foresight. 
Yet  vice  due  to  ignorance  is  pardonable,  and  is 
hardly  to  be  called  vice  at  all.  It  is  sheer  stupid- 
ity. This,  however,  which  was  the  explanation  of 
Socrates,  lets  us  off  too  easily. 

Vice  is  due  chiefly  to  inattention ;  not  ignorance, 
but  thoughtlessness.   "  I  see  the  better  and  approve, 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     85 

yet  I  pursue  the  worse."  In  this  case  knowledge 
is  not  absent,  but  defective.  It  is  on  the  margin, 
not  in  the  focus,  of  consciousness.  In  the  language 
of  physiological  psychology,  a  present  appetite  pre- 
sents its  claims  on  great  billows  of  nerve  commotion 
which  come  rolling  in  with  all  the  tang  and  pungency 
which  are  the  characteristic  marks  of  immediate  pe- 
ripheral excitation.  The  future  consequences  of  the 
gratification  of  that  appetite,  on  the  contrary,  are 
represented  by  the  tiny,  faint,  feeble  waves  which 
flow  over  from  some  other  brain  centre,  excited  long 
ago,  when  the  connection  of  this  particular  cause 
with  its  natural  eiffect  was  first  experienced.  In  such 
an  unequal  contest  between  powerful  vibrations  shot 
swift  and  straight  along  the  tingling  nerves  from 
the  seat  of  immediate  peripheral  commotion,  and 
the  meagre,  measured  flow  of  faded  impressions 
whose  initial  velocity  and  force  were  long  since 
spent,  what  wonder  that  the  remote  effect  seems 
dim,  vague,  and  unreal,  and  that  the  immediate 
gratification  of  the  insistent,  clamorous  appetite  or 
passion  wins  the  day  !  This  is  the  modem  expla- 
nation of  Aristotle's  old  problem  of  incontinence. 

Whence,  then,  comes  repentance?  From  the 
changed  proportions  in  which  acts  present  them- 
selves to  our  afterthought.  "  The  tumult  and  the 
shouting  dies."  The  appetite,  once  so  urgent  and 
insistent,  lies  prostrate  and  exhausted.  Its  clamor- 
ous messages  stop.    The  pleasure  it  brought  dies 


86     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

down,  vanishes  into  the  thin  air  of  memory  and 
symbolical  representation,  out  of  which  it  can  only 
call  to  us  with  hollow,  ghost-like  voice.  On  the 
contrary,  the  effect,  whether  it  be  physical  pains,  or 
the  felt  contempt  of  others,  or  the  sense  of  our  own 
shame,  gets  physical  reinforcement  from  without, 
or  invades  those  cells  of  the  brain  where  memory 
of  the  consequences  of  this  indulgence  lie,  latent 
but  never  dead,  and  stirs  them  to  the  very  depths. 
Now  all  the  vividness  and  pungency  and  tang  are 
on  their  side.  They  cry  out  Fool !  Shame  I  Sin  ! 
Guilt !  Condemnation  !  Then  we  wonder  how  we 
could  have  been  fools  enough  to  take  into  our  lives 
such  a  miserable  combination  of  cause  and  effect  as 
this  has  proved  to  be.  The  act  we  did  and  the  act 
we  repent  of  doing  are  in  one  sense  the  same.  But 
we  did  it  with  the  attractive  cause  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  the  repulsive  effect  in  the  background. 
We  repent  of  the  same  act  with  the  repulsive  effect 
vivid  in  the  foreground  of  present  consciousness, 
and  the  attractive  cause  in  the  dim  background  of 
memory.  Then  we  vow  that  we  will  never  admit 
that  combination  into  our  lives  again. 

Will  we  keep  our  vow?  That  depends  on  our 
ability  to  recall  the  point  of  view  we  gained  in  the 
mood  of  penitence  the  next  time  a  similar  combi- 
nation presents  itself.  It  will  come  on  as  before, 
with  the  attractive  offer  of  some  immediate  good  in 
the  foreground,  and  the  unwelcome  effect  trailing 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     87 

obscurely  in  the  rear.  If  we  take  it  as  it  comes, 
adding  to  the  presentation  no  contribution  of  our 
own,  we  shall  repeat  the  folly  and  vice  of  the  past, 
— become  again  the  passive  slaves  of  circumstance, 
the  easy  prey  of  appetite  and  passion,  the  stupid 
victims  of  the  serpent's  subtlety. 

Our  freedom,  our  moral  salvation,  lies  in  our 
power  to  call  up  our  past  experience  of  penitence 
and  lay  this  revived  picture  of  the  act,  with  effect 
in  the  foreground,  on  top  of  the  vivid  picture  which 
appetite  presents.  If  we  succeed  in  making  the  pic- 
ture that  we  reproduce  from  within  the  one  which 
determines  our  action,  we  shall  act  wisely  and  weU. 
By  reflecting  often  upon  the  pictures  drawn  for  us 
in  our  moments  of  penitence,  by  reviving  them  at 
intervals  when  they  are  not  immediately  needed, 
and  by  forming  the  habit  of  always  calling  them 
up  in  moments  of  temptation,  we  can  give  to  these 
pictures,  painted  by  our  own  penitence,  the  control 
of  our  lives.  This  is  our  charter  of  freedom ;  and 
though  precept,  example,  and  the  experience  of 
others  may  be  called  in  to  supplement  our  own  per- 
sonal experience,  this  power  to  revive  the  actual  op 
borrowed  lessons  of  repentance  is  the  only  free- 
dom we  have.  Call  it  memory,  attention,  foresight, 
prudence,  watchfulness,  ideal  construction,  or  what 
name  we  please,  the  secret  of  our  freedom,  the  key  to 
character,  the  control  of  conduct,  lies  exclusively  in 
this  power  to  force  into  the  foreground  considera- 


88     THE   CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

tions  which  of  themselves  tend  to  slip  into  the  back- 
ground, so  that,  as  in  a  well-constructed  cyclorama, 
where  actual  walls  and  fences  join  on  to  painted 
walls  and  fences  without  apparent  break,  the  im- 
mediately presented  desire,  backed  up  by  all  the 
impetus  of  immediate  physical  excitation,  shall 
count  for  precisely  its  proportionate  worth  in  a  re- 
presentation of  the  total  consequences  of  which  it 
is  the  cause. 

II.    SOCIAL   SYMPATHY  AND  RESPONSIBILITY 

If  I  were  the  only  person  in  the  world,  if  all  the 
other  forces  were  material  things,  with  no  wiUs  of 
their  own,  then  the  single  principle  of  inserting  into 
the  stream  of  sequence  the  causes  which  lead  to  the 
future  I  desire  for  myself,  and  excluding  those  of 
which  I  have  had  reason  to  repent,  would  be  the 
whole  of  ethics.  Fortunately  life  is  not  so  simple 
and  monotonous  as  all  that.  The  world  is  fuU  of 
other  wills  as  eager,  as  interesting,  as  strenuous, 
as  brave  as  we,  in  our  best  moments,  know  our 
own  to  be.  By  sympathy,  imagination,  insight,  and 
affection  we  can  enrich  our  lives  an  hundred-fold  by 
making  their  aims  and  aspirations,  their  interests 
and  struggles,  their  joys  and  sorrows  our  own.  Not 
only  can  we  do  this,  but  to  some  extent  we  must. 
It  is  impossible  to  live  an  isolated  life,  apart  from 
our  fellows.  Man  is  by  nature  social.  Alone  he  be- 
comes inhuman.    A   life  which  has   no  outlet  in 


THE   CAREER  OF   SELF-CONQUEST     89 

sympathy  with  other  lives  is  unendurable.  If 
men  cannot  find  some  one  to  love,  they  insist  on  at 
least  finding  some  one  to  quarrel  with,  or  defy,  or 
maltreat,  or  at  least  despise.  Even  hatred  and 
cruelty  and  pride  have  this  social  motive  at  their 
heart,  and  in  spite  of  themselves  are  witnesses  to 
the  essentially  social  nature  of  man,  and  the  soul 
of  latent  goodness  buried  beneath  the  hardest  of 
corrupted  and  perverted  hearts. 

Our  social  nature  complicates  and  at  the  same 
time  elevates  enormously  the  moral  problem.  It  is 
no  longer  a  question  of  dovetailing  together  the 
petty  fragments  of  my  own  little  life  so  as  to  make 
their  paltry  contents  a  coherent  whole ;  I  now  have 
the  harder  and  more  glorious  task  of  making  my 
life  as  a  whole  an  effective  and  harmonious  element 
in  the  larger  whole  which  includes  the  lives  of  my 
fellows  and  myself.  Here  again  there  is  a  vast  task 
for  the  imagination  to  perform ;  a  more  spacious 
cyclorama  for  it  to  construct.  Not  merely  the  effects 
upon  myself,  but  the  consequences  for  as  many  of 
my  fellows  as  my  act  directly  and  traceably  affects, 
I  must  now  represent.  Before  I  can  permit  an  act 
to  find  a  place  in  my  present  conduct  I  must  fore- 
see, not  only  what  it  means  for  my  own  future, 
but  for  the  future  of  all  my  neighbors  who  come 
within  the  range  of  its  influence. 

For  their  future  is,  in  proportion  to  the  close- 
ness of  the  ties  that  bind  us,  almost  as  completely 


90     THE   CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

in  my  control  as  it  is  in  their  own.  Indeed,  if  I  be 
the  stronger  person,  if  I  have  clear  foresight  where 
their  prevision  is  dim,  if  I  grasp  firmly  aims  which 
they  hold  but  feebly,  their  future  may  be  even 
more  in  my  hands  than  it  is  in  their  own.  Thus 
the  parent  is  more  responsible  for  the  child's  fu- 
ture than  is  the  child  himself.  The  husband  often 
holds  the  alternative  of  life  or  death  for  his  wife 
in  his  hands,  according  as  he  is  patient,  forbearing, 
considerate,  and  kind,  or  exacting,  inconsiderate, 
cross,  and  cruel.  The  wife,  on  the  other  hand, 
more  often  holds  the  future  of  her  husband's 
character  in  her  hands,  making  him  sober  and  hon- 
est if  she  is  winsome  and  sincere,  driving  him  to 
drink  if  she  is  slovenly  and  queridous,  leading 
him  into  dishonesty  if  she  is  extravagant  and  vain. 
Every  person  of  any  considerable  strength  of  char- 
acter can  recall  many  an  instance  in  which  by  a 
half-hour's  conversation,  followed  up  by  occasional 
suggestions  afterward,  he  has  changed  the  whole 
subsequent  career  of  another  person.  To  one  who 
has  discovered  the  secret  of  this  power,  a  week  per- 
mitted to  pass  by  without  thus  changing  the  life- 
currents  of  half  a  dozen  of  his  fellows  would  seem 
a  wicked,  wanton  waste  of  life's  chief  privilege  and 
joy.  I  could  name  a  quiet,  modest  man  who  at  a 
low  estimate  has  changed  directly  and  radically  for 
the  better  a  thousand  human  lives ;  and  indirectly, 
to  an  appreciable  degree,  certainly  not  less  than  a 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     91 

hundred  thousand.  He  is  no  professional  preacher 
or  evangelist;  and  the  greater  part  of  this  vast 
work  has  been  done  in  quiet  conversation,  mainly 
in  his  own  home,  and  by  correspondence. 

Such  power  of  one  man  over  another  is  in  no 
way  inconsistent  with  the  freedom  and  responsi- 
bility of  them  both.  In  psychical  as  in  physical 
causation  many  antecedents  enter  into  each  effect. 
When  I  pull  the  trigger  of  my  shotgun,  and  by  so 
doing  shoot  a  partridge,  I  am  by  no  means  the 
only  cause  of  the  bird's  death.  The  maker  of  the 
powder,  the  maker  of  the  shot,  the  man  who  put 
them  together  in  the  cartridge,  the  maker  qf  the 
gun,  the  dog  that  helped  me  find  the  bird,  and 
countless  other  forces,  which  we  express  in  such 
general  terms  as  the  laws  of  chemistry  and  physics, 
enter  into  the  production  of  the  effect.  Neverthe- 
less, my  pulling  the  trigger,  though  not  the  whole 
cause,  is  a  real  cause.  Precisely  so  when  I  offer  my 
boy  a  quarter  for  shooting  a  partridge,  and  under 
the  influence  of  that  inducement  he  goes  hunting, 
he  is  just  as  free  in  trying  to  secure  the  reward  as 
I  am  in  offering  it.  Both  my  desire  for  the  par- 
tridge, which  leads  me  to  offer  the  prize,  and  his 
desire  for  the  quarter  are  factors  in  producing  the 
result.  We  are  both  free  in  our  acts,  and  both 
share  responsibility  for  the  shooting  of  the  bird. 
For  that  act  figured  alike  in  his  future  and  in  my 
future  as  an  element  in  a  desired  whole.    The  same 


92     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

external  fact  may  enter  as  an  element  in  the  free- 
dom of  thousands  of  persons.  A  great  work  of  art, 
for  example,  is  an  expression  of  the  freedom  not 
only  of  the  artist  who  paints  or  writes,  but  of  all 
who  see  or  read  in  it  that  which  they  long  for  and 
admire.  The  goods  of  the  will  and  the  spirit,  un- 
like the  goods  of  the  mill  and  the  market,  are  '*  in 
widest  commonalty  spread."  They  refuse  to  make 
objects  of  exclusive  possession.  I  cannot  intensely 
cherish  an  idea,  or  entertain  a  plan,  for  which  my 
fellows  shall  not  be  either  the  better  or  the  worse. 
Every  conscious  act  deliberately  chosen  and  ac- 
cepted is  an  act  of  freedom,  and  every  word  or 
deed  goes  forth  from  us  freighted  with  social  con- 
sequence, and  weighted  to  that  precise  extent  with 
moral  responsibility. 

Hence  social  imagination  or  sympathy  is  the 
second  great  instrument  of  morality,  as  individual 
imagination  or  foresight  was  the  first.  If  our  in- 
dividual salvation  is  by  foresight  and  repentance, 
our  social  salvation  is  through  imagination  and 
love.  No  logical  "reconciliation  of  egoism  and 
altruism  "  is  possible ;  for  that  would  involve  re- 
ducing one  of  the  two  elements  to  terms  of  the 
other.  Both  are  facts  of  human  experience,  found 
in  every  normal  life.  I  live  my  own  life  by  setting 
before  myself  a  future,  and  taking  the  means  that 
lead  thereto.  I  find  this  life  worth  living  in  pro- 
portion to  the  length  and  breadth  and  height  of 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     93 

the  aims  I  set  before  myself,  and  the  wisdom 
and  skill  I  bring  to  bear  upon  their  achieve- 
ment. But  I  cannot  make  my  own  aims  long, 
wide,  or  high,  without  at  the  same  time  taking 
account  of  the  aims  of  my  fellows.  I  may  clash 
with  them,  and  try  to  use  them  as  means  to  my 
own  ends.  That  leads  to  strife  and  bitterness, 
sorrow  and  shame.  Either  my  own  ends  are  de- 
feated, if ,  as  is  generally  the  case,  my  fellows  prove 
stronger  than  I ;  or  else  they  are  won  at  such  cost 
of  injury  to  others  that  in  comparison  they  seem 
poor  and  pitiful,  not  worth  the  winning.  This  is 
the  experience  of  the  normal  man;  and  though 
by  pride  and  hardness  of  heart  one  may  make  shift 
to  endure  a  comparatively  egoistic  life,  no  person 
can  find  it  so  good  as  never  to  be  haunted  by  vis- 
ions of  a  better,  which  sympathy  and  love  might 
bring. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  I  generously  take  into 
account  the  aims  of  my  fellow-man,  and  live  in 
them  with  the  same  eagerness  with  which  I  live 
in  my  own,  using  for  him  the  same  foresight  and 
adaptation  of  means  to  ends  that  I  would  use  for 
myself,  throwing  my  own  resources  into  the  scale 
of  his  interests  when  his  resources  are  inadequate, 
sharing  with  him  the  sorrow  of  temporary  defeat, 
and  the  triumph  of  hard-won  victories,  I  find  my 
own  life  more  than  doubled  by  this  share  in  the 
life  of  another.    The  little  that  I  add  to  his  fore- 


94     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

sight  and  strength,  if  given  with  sympathy  and 
love,  when  added  to  the  energy,  latent  or  active, 
which  he  already  has,  works  wonders  out  of  all 
proportion  to  the  results  I  could  achieve  in  my 
life  alone,  or  which  he  alone  could  achieve  in 
his.  Love  not  merely  adds ;  it  multiplies ;  as  in 
the  story  of  the  loaves  and  fishes.  It  not  only 
increases ;  it  magnifies  the  life,  alike  of  him  who 
gives  and  him  who  receives.  Just  why  it  should 
do  so  is  hard  to  explain  in  purely  egoistic  terms ; 
as  hard  as  to  explain  to  an  oyster  why  dogs  like 
to  run  and  bark ;  or  to  a  heap  of  sand  why  the 
particles  of  a  crystal  arrange  themselves  in  the 
wondrous  ways  they  do.  It  is  a  simple,  ultimate 
fact  of  experience  that  just  as  a  life  of  individual 
foresight  is  on  the  whole  better  worth  living  than 
the  life  of  hand-to-mouth  gratification,  so  the  life 
of  loving  sympathy  is  a  life  infinitely  more  blessed 
than  the  best  success  the  poor  self-centred  egoist 
can  ever  know.  If  a  selfish  life  were  found  on  the 
basis  of  wide  experience  and  comprehensive  gen- 
eralization to  be  a  more  blessed  and  glorious  life 
than  the  life  of  loving  sympathy,  then  the  selfish 
life  would  be  the  life  we  ought  to  live :  precisely 
as  if  houses  in  which  the  centre  of  gravity  falls 
outside  the  base  were  the  most  stable  and  graceful 
structures  men  could  build,  that  would  be  the  style 
of  architecture  we  all  "  ought "  to  adopt.  Ethics 
and  architecture  are  both  ideal  pursuits,  in  the 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     95 

sense  that  they  have  as  their  object  to  make  a 
present  ideal  plan  into  a  future  fact.  But  both 
must  build  their  ideals  out  of  the  solid  facts  of 
past  experience.  It  is  just  as  undeniable,  unescap- 
able  a  fact  of  ethics  that  the  aim  of  a  noble  and 
blessed  life  must  fall  outside  its  own  individual  in- 
terests, as  it  is  an  undeniable,  unescapable  law  of 
architecture  that  the  centre  of  gravity  of  a  stable, 
graceful  structure  must  fall  within  its  base. 

Still  the  appeal  to  brute  fact,  though  valid,  is 
not  ultimate.  There  is  a  reason  for  the  fact  that 
structures  in  which  the  centre  of  gravity  falls  out- 
side the  base  are  unstable ;  and  physics  formulates 
that  reason  in  the  law  of  gravitation.  So  there  is 
a  reason  why  a  selfish  life  is  unsatisfactory ;  and 
ethics  formulates  that  reason  in  the  law  of  love. 
These  facts  are  so ;  but  they  have  to  be  so  because 
they  could  not  find  a  place  in  the  total  system  of 
things  if  they  were  otherwise.  A  universe  of  con- 
sistent egoists  would  not  be  a  permanent  possi- 
bility. It  could  only  exist  temporarily  as  a  hell  in 
process  of  its  own  speedy  disruption  and  dissolu- 
tion. 

Yet  just  as  a  man  can  forget  his  own  future, 
and  in  so  doing  wrong  his  own  soul,  a  man  can 
be  blind  to  the  consequence  of  his  act  for  his 
neighbor,  and  in  so  doing  wrong  society  and  his 
own  social  nature.  The  root  of  all  social  sin  is  this 
blindness  to  social  consequence.    Hence  the  great 


96     THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

task  of  sound  ethics  is  to  stimulate  the  social  im- 
agination. We  must  be  continually  prodding  our 
sense  of  social  consequence  to  keep  it  wide  awake. 
We  must  be  asking  ourselves  at  each  point  of  con- 
tact with  the  lives  of  others  such  pointed  questions 
as  these :  How  would  you  like  to  be  this  tailor  or 
washerwoman  whose  bill  you  have  neglected  to 
pay  ?  How  would  you  like  to  be  the  customer  to 
whom  you  are  seUing  these  adulterated  or  inferior 
goods  ?  How  would  you  like  to  be  the  investor  in 
this  stock  company  which  you  are  promoting  with 
water  ?  How  would  you  like  to  be  the  taxpayer  of 
the  city  which  you  are  plundering  by  lending  your 
official  sanction  to  contracts  and  deals  which  make 
its  buildings  and  supplies  and  services  cost  more 
than  any  private  individual  would  have  to  pay? 
How  would  you  like  to  be  the  employer  whose  time 
and  tools  and  material  you  are  wasting  at  every 
chance  you  get  to  loaf  and  shirk  and  neglect  the 
duties  you  are  paid  to  perform  ?  How  would  you 
like  to  be  the  clerk  or  saleswoman  in  the  store 
where  you  are  reaping  extra  dividends  by  impos- 
ing harder  conditions  than  the  state  of  trade  and 
the  market  compel  you  to  adopt?  How  would  you 
like  to  be  the  stoker  or  weaver  or  mechanic  on  the 
wages  you  pay  and  the  conditions  of  labor  you  im- 
pose ?  How  would  you  like  to  live  out  the  dreary, 
degraded,  outcast  future  of  the  woman  whom  you 
wantonly  ruin  for  a  moment's  passionate  pleasure  ? 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     97 

How  would  you  like  to  be  the  man  whose  good 
name  you  injure  by  slander  and  false  accusation  ? 
How  would  you  like  to  be  the  business  rival  whom 
you  deprive  of  his  little  aU  by  using  your  greater 
wealth  in  temporary  cut-throat  competition  ? 

These  are  the  kind  of  questions  the  social  im- 
agination is  asking  of  us  at  every  turn.  There  are 
severe  conditions  of  trade,  politics,  war,  which 
often  compel  us  to  do  cruel  things  and  strike  hard, 
crushing  blows.  For  these  conditions  we  are  not 
always  individually  responsible.  The  individual 
who  will  hold  his  place,  and  maintain  an  effective 
position  in  the  practical  affairs  of  the  world,  must 
repeatedly  do  the  things  he  hates  to  do,  and  file 
his  silent  protest,  and  work  for  such  gradual  change 
of  conditions  as  will  make  such  hard,  cruel  acts  no 
longer  necessary.  We  must  sometimes  collect  the 
rent  of  the  poor  widow,  and  exact  the  task  from 
the  sick  woman,  and  pay  low  wages  to  the  man 
with  a  large  family,  and  turn  out  the  well-meaning 
but  inefficient  employee.  We  must  resist  good 
men  in  the  interest  of  better  things  they  cannot 
see,  and  discipline  children  for  reasons  which  they 
cannot  comprehend.  Yet  even  in  these  cases  where 
we  have  to  sacrifice  other  people,  we  must  at  least 
feel  the  sacrifice  ;  we  must  be  as  sorry  for  them  as 
we  would  be  for  ourselves  if  we  were  in  their  place. 
We  must  not  turn  out  the  inefficient  employee, 
unless  we  would  be  willing  to  resign  his  place  our- 


98     THE   CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

selves,  if  we  held  it  and  were  in  it  as  inefficient  as 
he.  We  must  not  exact  the  rent  or  the  task  from 
the  poor  widow  or  the  sick  saleswoman,  unless  on 
the  whole  if  we  were  in  their  places  we  should  be 
willing  to  pay  the  rent  or  perform  the  task.  Even 
this  principle  will  not  entirely  remove  hardship, 
privation,  and  cruelty  from  our  complex  modern 
life.  But  it  will  very  greatly  reduce  it ;  and  it  will 
take  out  of  life  what  is  the  crudest  element  of  it 
all,  —  the  hardness  of  human  hearts. 

To  sternly  refuse  any  gain  that  is  purchased  by 
another's  loss,  or  any  pleasure  bought  with  an- 
other's pain ;  to  make  this  sensitiveness  to  the  in- 
terests of  others  a  living  stream,  a  growing  plant 
within  our  individual  hearts ;  to  challenge  every 
domestic  and  personal  relation,  every  industrial 
and  business  connection,  every  political  and  offi- 
cial performance,  every  social  and  intellectual  aspi- 
ration, by  this  searching  test  of  social  consequence 
to  those  our  act  affects,  —  this  is  the  second  stage 
of  the  moral  life ;  this  is  one  of  the  two  great  com- 
mandments of  Christianity. 

III.    AUTHORITY   AND   PUNISHMENT 

To  see  the  whole  effect  upon  ourselves,  and  upon 
others,  of  each  act  which  we  perform  is  the  secret 
of  the  moral  life.  Yet  we  are  shortsighted  by  na- 
ture, and  often  blinded  by  prejudice  and  passion. 
The  child  at  first  is  scarcely  able  to  see  vividly  and 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST     99 

clearly  beyond  the  present  moment  and  his  individ- 
ual desires.  And  in  many  respects  we  all  remain 
mere  children  to  the  end.  Is  not  the  moral  task 
then  impossible  ? 

Hard  it  is  indeed.  Impossible,  too,  it  would  be, 
if  we  had  no  tools  to  work  with ;  no  helps  in  this 
hard  task.  Fortunately  we  have  the  needed  helps, 
and  they  come  first  in  the  authority  of  our  parents 
and  rulers.  Their  wider  experience  enables  them 
to  see  what  the  child  cannot  see.  Their  command- 
ments, therefore,  if  they  are  wise  and  good,  point 
in  the  direction  of  consequences  which  the  child 
cannot  see  at  the  time,  but  which,  when  he  does 
see,  he  will  accept  as  desirable.  An  act  which  leads 
to  an  unseen  good  consequence,  done  in  obedience 
to  trusted  authority  or  respected  law,  is  right. 
The  person  who  does  such  an  act  is  righteous.  And 
the  righteousness  of  it  rests  on  faith,  —  faith  in 
the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  the  person  he  obeys. 
Righteousness  at  this  stage,  therefore,  is  goodness 
"  going  it  blind,"  as  the  slang  phrase  is ;  or,  in 
more  orthodox  terms,  walking  by  faith,  and  not  by 
sight. 

As  long  as  the  child  walks  in  implicit  trust  in 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  his  parents  he  cannot 
go  far  astray.  Ignorant,  shortsighted,  inexperienced 
as  he  is,  he  nevertheless  is  guided  by  a  vicarious 
intelligence,  in  which  the  wisdom  and  experience 
of  the  race  are  reproduced  and  interpreted  for  him 


100     THE   CAREER   OF   SELF-CONQUEST 

in  each  new  crisis  by  the  insight  of  love.  What 
wonder,  then,  that  the  commandment,  Honor  thy 
father  and  thy  mother,  whether  in  Hebrew  or  Chi- 
nese legislation,  is  the  great  commandment  with 
promise !  Not  only  does  the  obedient  child  in  par- 
ticular cases  get  the  consequences  which  he  after- 
wards comes  to  see  were  desirable,  but  he  acquires 
habits  of  doing  the  kind  of  acts  which  lead  to  de- 
sirable consequences,  and  of  refraining  from  the 
kind  of  acts  which  lead  to  undesirable  consequences. 
These  habits  are  the  broad  base  on  which  all  subse- 
quent character  rests,  as  on  a  solid  rock  deeply  sunk 
in  the  firm  soil  of  the  imconscious.  As  our  bodies 
are  first  nourished  by  our  mother's  milk,  our  souls 
are  built  up  first  out  of  the  habits  of  acting  which 
we  derive  directly  from  doing  what  our  mothers  tell 
us  to  do  in  thousands  of  specific,  concrete  cases,  and 
refraining  from  doing  the  things  their  gentle  wis- 
dom firmly  forbids.  The  love  of  mothers  is  the  cord 
that  ties  each  newborn  soul  fast  to  the  wisdom  and 
experience  of  the  race.  "  We  are  suckled  at  the 
breast  of  the  universal  ethos,"  chiefly  through  the 
vicarious  maternal  inteUigence.  Hence  the  awful 
waste,  amounting  to  a  crime  against  both  the  hard- 
won  ideals  and  standards  of  the  race  and  the  fu- 
ture character  of  the  child,  when  indolent,  or  vain, 
or  ambitious  mothers  turn  over  the  formative  years 
of  their  children  to  ignorant,  undeveloped  nurses  I 
Though  the  chances  are  that  the  average  nurse  will 


THE  CAREER  OF  Sl^LF-CONQUEST    101 

prove  qtiite  as  wise  and  good  a  guide  fco  the  yornig 
mind  as  a  mother  who  is  capable  of  turning  her 
child  over  to  the  exclusive  training  of  any  other 
guide  than  herself.  The  pity  is  hot  so  much  that 
the  ambitious  mother  relinquishes  her  highest  and 
holiest  function  as  that  there  are  children  bom  who 
have  mothers  capable  of  doing  it.  Given  such 
mothers,  the  nurses  are  often  a  great  improvement 
on  them. 

The  derivative,  vicarious  nature  of  righteousness 
at  this  stage  makes  clear  the  need  and  justification  of 
punishment.  The  mother  sees  a  great,  far-off  good, 
which  the  child  cannot  see  at  all.  She  commands 
the  child  to  act  in  a  way  to  secure  this  good  as  a 
consequence.  He  disobeys.  He  loses  the  conse- 
quence which  she  desires  for  him.  He  weakens  the 
indispensable  habit  of  obedience,  on  which  count- 
less other  great  goods  beyond  his  vision  depend. 
He  cannot  see  vividly  either  the  specific  good  at 
which  she  aims  or  the  general  good  that  flows 
from  the  habit  of  implicit  obedience.  She  then 
brings  within  the  range  of  his  keen  and  vivid  ex- 
perience some  such  minor  and  transitory  evil  as 
a  spanking  or  being  sent  supperless  to  bed,  and 
makes  him  understand  that,  if  he  cannot  see  the 
good  of  obedience,  he  can  count  with  certainty  on 
these  evils  of  disobedience.  Punishment,  then,  is  an 
act  of  the  truest  kindness  and  consideration.  It  is 
a  help  to  that  instinctive  and  implicit  obedience  to 


102    THE  CARfibR  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

autndrity,  t)ij  \viiicfi  the  child's  greatest  good  at  this 
stage  of  his  development  depends.  No  child  will 
permanently  resent  such  well-meant  punishment. 
As  Mrs.  Browning  says  :  — 

A  mother  never  is  afraid 
Of  speaking  angerly  to  any  child, 
Since  love,  she  knows,  is  justified  of  love. 

The  withholding  of  punishment  in  such  cases  is 
the  real  cruelty,  and  the  mother  who  is  weak 
enough  to  do  it  is  a  mawkish  sentimentalist,  to 
whom  a  few  passing  cries  and  tears  are  of  more 
consequence  than  the  future  welfare  and  perma- 
nent character  of  her  child.  From  this  point  of  view, 
punishment  is  an  act  of  mercy  and  kindness,  as 
Plato  shows  us  so  clearly  in  the  Gorgias.  Every 
mother  who  believes  her  child  to  be  ever  so  little 
below  the  angels  is  bound  to  substitute  the  gentler 
evils  of  artificial  punishment  for  the  greater  evils 
of  a  life  of  unpunished  naughtiness. 

All  moral  punishment,  whether  inflicted  by  par- 
ents, schools,  colleges,  or  courts  of  justice,  is  of  this 
nature.  It  helps  the  offender  to  see  both  ends  of 
his  deed.  When  he  commits  the  offense,  he  sees 
vividly  only  one  end  of  it,  the  temporary  advantage 
to  himself  as  an  individual.  He  does  not  see  with 
equal  vividness  the  other  end,  —  the  injury  to  the 
interests  of  others,  and  to  his  own  best  self  as  a 
potential  participant  in  these  larger  interests.  Pun- 
ishment attempts  to  bring  home  to  him,  if  not  in 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST    103 

the  precise  terms  of  his  offense,  an  eye  for  an  eye, 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  at  least  a  partial  equivalent,  in 
privation  of  money  or  liberty  or  public  favor,  the 
other  end  of  his  act,  which  at  the  time  of  acting  he 
did  not  keenly  and  vividly  appreciate.  Such  strict 
retribution  is  the  best  favor  we  can  confer  on  an 
offender,  so  long  as  he  remains  unrepentant.  To 
give  him  less  than  this  is  to  cut  him  off  from  his 
only  chance  to  get  a  right  view  of  his  own  wrong 
act.  It  is  the  only  way  to  open  his  eyes  to  see  his 
act  in  its  totality. 

What  if  a  man  repents  ?  Shall  we  still  punish 
him?  Not  if  the  repentance  is  genuine  and  thor- 
oughgoing. What,  then,  is  true  repentance?  An 
evil  act,  as  we  have  seen,  has  two  ends :  one  attrac- 
tive to  the  individual,  for  the  sake  of  which  he  does 
it ;  the  other  injurious  to  his  own  better  self  and  to 
the  interests  of  others.  This  second  end  the  wrong- 
doer does  not  see  clearly  when  he  commits  the 
offense.  Afterwards  he  sees  it,  in  its  natural  con- 
sequences,—  in  the  indignation  of  the  offended,  in 
the  condemnation  of  society,  in  the  imminence  of 
punishment.  This  second  part  of  his  act,  when  it 
comes  home  to  him,  he  does  not  like,  but  wishes  him- 
self well  out  of  it.  This,  however,  is  not  repentance ; 
and  no  amount  of  tears  and  promises  and  impor< 
tunities  should  ever  deceive  us  into  accepting  this 
dislike  of  unpleasant  consequences  for  a  genuine 
repentance  of  the  wrong  act.    Every  wise  parent, 


104    THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

every  efficient  college  officer,  every  just  judge,  must 
harden  his  heart  against  all  these  selfish  lamenta- 
tions, and  discount  them  in  advance  as  a  probable 
part  of  the  culprit's  natural  programme.  Dislike 
of  unpleasant  consequences  to  one's  seK  is  not 
repentance.  Repentance  must  reach  back  to  the 
original  act,  and  include  both  the  pleasant  cause 
and  its  unpleasant  consequences  to  others,  as  well 
as  to  one's  self,  in  the  unity  of  one  total  deed,  and 
then  repudiate  that  deed  as  a  whole.  When  re- 
pentance does  that,  it  does  the  whole  moral  work 
which  punishment  aims  to  do.  To  inflict  punishment 
after  such  repentance  is  inexcusable  and  wanton 
brutality. 

The  theory  of  punishment  is  clear  ;  its  applica- 
tion is  the  most  difficult  of  tasks.  It  is  very  hard 
to  discriminate  in  many  cases  real  repentance  from 
dislike  of  unpleasant  personal  consequences.  Then 
it  is  hard  to  justify  severity  toward  one  who  is  be- 
lieved to  be  unrepentant,  and  absolute  forgiveness 
to  one  who  has  shown  evidence  of  true  penitence. 
Whoever  has  to  administer  punishment  on  a  large 
scale,  and  attempts  to  be  inflexibly  retributive  to 
the  impenitent  and  infinitely  merciful  toward  the 
penitent,  must  expect  to  be  grossly  misunderstood 
and  severely  criticised  for  all  he  does  and  all  he 
refrains  from  doing.  If  the  way  of  the  transgressor 
is  hard,  the  way  of  the  moral  punisher  is  harder. 
The  state  practically  confesses  its  inability  to  dis- 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST    105 

criminate  true  from  false  repentance ;  and  lowers 
its  practice  from  the  moral  plane  of  retribution  or 
forgiveness  to  the  merely  legal  plane  of  social  pro- 
tection, giving  to  the  executive  a  power  of  pardon 
by  which  to  correct  the  more  glaring  mistakes  of 
the  courts.  In  view  of  the  clumsiness  of  the  means 
at  its  disposal,  the  great  diversity  of  moral  condi- 
tion in  its  citizens,  and  the  impersonality  of  its  re- 
lations, probably  this  protective  theory  of  punish- 
ment, which  says  to  the  offender,  "  I  punish  you, 
not  for  stealing  sheep,  but  to  prevent  other  sheep 
from  being  stolen,"  is  the  best  working  theory  for 
practical  jurisprudence.  But  it  is  utterly  unmoral. 
It  has  no  place  in  the  family.  Only  in  extreme 
cases  is  it  defensible  in  school  and  college.  In  set- 
tling personal  qurrrels  it  should  have  small  place. 
Uncompromising  retribution  to  the  impenitent,  un- 
reserved forgiveness  to  the  penitent,  which  Chris- 
tianity sets  forth  as  the  attitude  of  God,  is  the 
only  right  course  for  men  who  are  called  to  per- 
form this  infinitely  difficult  task  of  moral  punish- 
ment. 

IV.   THE  SY^IBOLICAL  VALIDITY  OF  MORAL  LAWS 

The  success  of  the  ethical  life  depends  on  keep- 
ing the  consequences  of  our  acts,  for  ourselves  and 
for  others,  vividly  in  the  foreground  of  the  mind. 
Personal  authority  of  parents  and  rulers,  supported 
by  swift,  sure  penalties  for  disobedience,  is  the  first 


106    THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

great  help  to  the  good  life.  But  we  cannot  always 
have  parents,  tutors,  and  governors  standing  over 
us  to  tell  us  what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do ;  to 
reward  us  if  we  do  right  and  punish  us  if  we  do 
wrong.  Still  less  can  we  afford  to  rely  on  natural 
penalties  alone,  as  they  teach  us  their  lessons  in 
the  slow  and  costly  school  of  experience.  The  next 
stage  of  moral  development  employs  as  symbols  of 
the  consequences  we  cannot  foresee  and  appreciate 
maxims  to  guide  the  individual  life,  and  laws  to 
represent  the  claims  of  our  fellows  upon  us.  These 
maxims  and  laws  have  no  intrinsic  worth.  Their 
authority  is  all  derived  and  representative.  Yet 
inasmuch  as  they  represent  individual  or  social  con- 
sequences, they  have  all  the  authority  of  the  conse- 
quences themselves.  More  than  that,  since  con- 
sequences are  particular  and  limited,  while  these 
maxims  and  laws  are  universal,  these  maxims  and 
laws,  derivative  and  representative  s3rmbols  though 
they  are,  have  a  sacredness  and  authority  far  higher 
and  greater  than  that  of  any  particular  consequences 
for  which  in  a  given  case  they  happen  to  stand. 

These  maxims  and  laws  are  like  the  items  on 
a  merchant's  ledger ;  or,  better  still,  like  the  cur- 
rency which  represents  the  countless  varieties  of 
commodities  and  services  we  buy  and  sell.  The 
items  on  the  ledger,  the  bills  in  the  pocketbook, 
have  no  intrinsic  value.  Yet  it  were  far  better  for 
a  merchant  to  be  careless  about  his  cotton  cloth  or 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST    107 

molasses  or  any  particular  commodity  in  which  he 
deals,  than  to  be  careless  about  his  accounts,  which 
represent  commodities  of  all  kinds ;  better  for  any 
one  of  us  to  forget  where  we  laid  our  coat  or  our 
shoes  or  umbrella,  than  to  leave  lying  around  loose 
the  dollar  bills  which  are  symbols  of  the  value  of 
these  and  a  thousand  other  articles  we  possess. 
Precisely  so,  the  authority  and  dignity  of  moral 
maxims  and  laws  are  in  no  way  impaired  by  frankly 
acknowledging  their  intrinsic  worthlessness.  To 
violate  one  of  these  maxims,  to  break  one  of  these 
laws,  is  as  foolish  and  wicked  as  it  would  be  to 
set  fire  to  a  merchant's  ledger,  or  to  tear  up  one's 
doUar  bills.  These  maxims  and  laws  are  our  moral 
currency,  coined  by  the  experience  of  the  race,  and 
stamped  with  universal  approval.  Their  authority 
rests  on  the  consequences  which  they  represent; 
and  their  validity,  as  representative  of  those  con- 
sequences, is  attested  by  the  experience  of  the  race 
in  innumerable  cases.  A  moral  law  is  a  prophecy 
of  consequences  based  on  the  widest  possible  in- 
duction. Hence  the  man  who  seeks  a  satisfactory 
future  for  himself,  and  for  those  his  act  affects,  in 
other  words  the  moral  man,  must  obey  these  max- 
ims and  laws  in  aU  ordinary  cases  without  stopping 
to  verify  the  consequences  they  represent,  any  more 
than  an  ordinary  citizen  investigates  the  solvency 
of  the  government  every  time  he  receives  its  legal 
tender  notes. 


108    THE   CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

This  illustration  at  the  same  time  reveals  the 
almost  universal  validity  of  moral  laws,  and  yet 
leaves  the  necessary  room  for  rare  and  imperative 
exceptions.  A  man  may  find  it  wise  to  burn  dol- 
lar bills.  If  he  is  in  camp,  and  likely  to  perish  with 
cold,  and  no  other  kindling  is  available,  he  will 
kindle  his  fire  with  dollar  bUls.  He  will  be  very 
reluctant  to  do  it,  however.  He  will  realize  that 
he  is  kindling  a  very  costly  fire.  He  will  consent 
to  do  it  only  as  a  last  resort,  and  when  the  fire  is 
worth  more  to  him,  not  merely  than  the  intrinsic, 
but  than  the  symbolic  value  of  the  bills.  Now 
there  may  be  rare  cases  when  a  moral  law  must  be 
broken  on  the  same  principle  that  a  man  kindles 
a  fire  with  dollar  bills.  The  cases  will  be  about  as 
rare  when  it  will  be  right  to  steal  or  lie  as  it  is  rare 
to  find  circumstances  when  it  is  wise  to  build  a  fire 
with  dollar  bills.  They  come  perhaps  once  or  twice 
in  a  lifetime  to  one  or  two  in  every  thousand  men. 
The  breaking  of  a  moral  law  always  involves  evil 
consequences,  far  outweighing  any  particular  good 
that  can  ordinarily  be  gained  thereby,  through 
weakening  confidence  and  respect  for  the  validity 
and  authority  of  the  law  itself.  Yet  there  are  ex- 
ceptional, abnormal  conditions  of  war,  or  sickness, 
or  insanity,  or  moral  perversity,  where  the  defense  of 
precious  interests  against  pathological  and  perverse 
conditions  may  warrant  the  breaking  of  a  moral 
law,  on  the  same  principle  that  impending  freezing 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST    109 

would  warrant  the  lighting  of  a  thousand-dollar 
fire. 

One  hesitates  to  give  examples  of  circumstances 
which  justify  the  breaking  of  a  moral  law,  for  fear 
of  giving  to  exceptions  a  portion  of  the  emphasis 
which  belongs  exclusively  to  the  rule,  and  falling  into 
the  moral  abyss  of  a  Jesuitical  casuistry.  Yet  it  is 
an  invariable  rule  of  teaching  never  to  give  an  ab- 
stract principle  without  its  accompanying  concrete 
case.  Hence,  if  cases  must  be  given,  the  lie  to  di- 
vert the  murderer  from  his  victim,  the  horse  seized 
to  carry  the  wounded  man  to  the  surgeon,  the  lie 
that  withholds  the  story  of  a  repented  wrong  from 
the  scandalmonger  who  would  wreck  the  happiness 
of  a  home  by  peddling  it  abroad,  are  instances  of 
the  extreme  urgency  that  might  warrant  the  build- 
ing of  a  thousand-dollar  bonfire  which  takes  place 
whenever  we  break  a  moral  law.  The  law  against 
adultery,  on  the  other  hand,  admits  no  conceivable 
exception ;  for  no  good  could  possibly  be  gained 
thereby  that  would  be  commensurate  with  the  un- 
dermining of  the  foundations  of  the  home. 

Moral  laws  are  the  coined  treasures  of  the  moral 
experience  of  the  race,  stamped  with  social  ap- 
proval. As  such  they  are  binding  on  each  individ- 
ual, as  the  only  terms  on  which  he  can  be  admitted 
to  a  free  exchange  of  the  moral  goods  of  the  society 
of  which  he  is  a  member.  No  man  can  command 
the  respect  of  himself  or  of  society  who  permits 


110    THE   CAREER  OF   SELF-CONQUEST 

himself  to  fall  below  the  level  of  these  rigid  re* 
quirements. 

The  mere  keeping  of  the  law,  however,  does  not 
make  one  a  moral  man.  It  may  insure  a  certain 
mediocrity  of  conduct  which  passes  for  respecta- 
bility. But  one  is  not  morally  free,  he  does  not  get 
the  characteristic  dignity  and  joy  of  the  moral  life, 
until  he  is  lifted  clear  above  a  slavish  conformity 
to  law  into  hearty  appreciation  of  the  meaning  of 
the  law  and  enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  great  end 
at  which  all  laws  aim.  A  juiceless,  soulless,  loveless 
Pharisaism  is  the  best  morality  mere  law  can  give. 
To  protest  against  the  slavery  and  insincerity  of 
such  a  scheme  was  no  small  part  of  the  negative 
side  of  the  mission  of  Jesus  and  Paul. 

Yet  the  freedom  which  Jesus  brings,  the  free- 
dom which  all  true  ethical  systems  insist  on  as  the 
very  breath  of  the  moral  life,  is  not  freedom  from 
but  freedom  in  the  requirements  of  the  law.  It  is 
not  freedom  to  break  the  law,  except  in  those  very 
rare  instances  cited  above,  where  the  very  principle 
on  which  the  law  is  founded  demands  the  breaking 
of  the  letter  of  the  law  in  the  interest  of  its  own 
spiritual  fulfillment.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  no 
man  keeps  any  law  aright  who  would  not  dare  to 
break  it.  I  lack  the  true  respect  for  life  which  is 
at  the  heart  of  the  law  against  murder  if  I  would 
not  kill  a  murderer  to  prevent  him  from  taking  the 
life  of  an  innocent  victim.  I  do  not  really  love  the 


THE  CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST    111 

right  relation  between  persons  which  is  the  heart 
of  truth  if  I  would  not  dare  to  deceive  a  scandal- 
monger, intent  on  sowing  seeds  of  bitterness  and 
hate.  I  do  not  love  that  welfare  of  mankind  which 
is  the  significance  and  justification  of  property  if 
I  would  be  afraid  to  drive  off  a  horse  which  did 
not  belong  to  me  to  take  the  wounded  man  to  the 
surgeon  in  time  to  save  unnecessary  amputation  or 
needless  death.  I  do  not  believe  in  that  union  of 
happy  hearts  which  is  the  soul  of  marriage  if  I 
would  not,  like  Caponsacchi,  risk  hopeless  misun- 
derstanding, and  shock  convention,  in  order  to  let 
the  light  of  love  shine  on  a  nature  from  which  it 
had  been  monstrously,  cruelly,  wantonly  withheld. 
There  is  nothing  antinomian  in  this  freedom  in 
the  law.  He  who  will  attempt  the  role  of  Capon- 
sacchi must,  like  him,  have  a  purity  of  heart  as 
high  above  the  literal  requirements  of  external  law 
as  are  the  frosty  stars  of  heaven  above  the  murky 
mists  of  earth.  He  who  drives  off  the  horse  to  the 
surgeon  honestly  must  be  one  who  would  sooner 
cut  off  his  right  hand  than  touch  his  neighbor's 
spear  of  grass  for  any  lesser  cause.  He  who  will 
tell  the  truthful  lie  to  the  scandalmonger  must  be 
one  who  would  go  to  the  stake  before  he  would  give 
the  word  or  even  the  look  of  falsehood  to  any  right- 
minded  man  who  had  a  right  to  know  the  truth  for 
which  he  asks.  He  who  will  slay  a  murderer  guilt- 
lessly must  be  one  who  would  rather,  like  Socrates, 


112     THE   CAREER  OF  SELF-CONQUEST 

die  a  thousand  deaths  than  betray  the  slightest 
claim  his  fellows  have  upon  him.  No  man  may 
break  the  least  of  the  moral  commandments  unless 
the  spirit  that  is  expressed  within  the  command-, 
ment  itself  bids  him  break  it.  And  such  a  break-, 
ing  is  the  highest  fulfillment. 

This  theoretical  explanation  of  moral  laws,  with 
its  justification  of  exceptions  in  extreme  cases,  is 
absolutely  essential  to  a  rational  system  of  ethics. 
Yet  it  must  not  blind  us  to  the  practically  supreme 
and  absolute  authority  of  these  laws  in  ordinary 
conduct.  These  moral  laws  are,  as  Professor  Dewey 
happily  terms  them,  tools  of  analysis.  They  break 
up  a  complex  situation  into  its  essential  parts,  and 
teU  us  to  what  class  of  acts  the  proposed  act  belongs, 
and  whether  that  class  of  acts  is  one  which  we 
ought  to  do  or  not. 

The  practical  man  in  a  case  of  moral  conduct 
asks  what  class  an  act  belongs  to ;  and  then,  hav- 
ing classified  it,  follows  implicitly  the  dictates  of 
the  moral  law  on  that  class  of  cases.  Gambling, 
stealing,  drunkenness,  slandering,  loafing  he  will 
recognize  at  a  glance  as  things  to  be  refrained  from, 
in  obedience  to  the  laws  that  condemn  them.  He 
will  not  stop  to  inquire  into  the  grounds  of  such 
condemnation  in  each  special  case.  To  know  the 
ground  of  the  law,  however,  helps  us  to  classify 
doubtful  cases,  —  as,  for  instance,  whether  buying 
stocks  on  margins  is  gambling  ;  whether  the  spoils 


THE   CAREER   OF  SELF-CONQUEST    113 

system  in  politics  is  stealing;  whether  moderate 
drinking  is  incipient  drunkenness ;  whether  good- 
natured  gossip  about  our  neighbor's  failings  is  slan- 
der ;  whether  a  three  months'  vacation  is  loafing, 
and  the  like.  Once  properly  classified,  however,  the 
man  who  is  wise  will  turn  over  his  ordinary  conduct 
on  these  points  to  the  automatic  working  of  habit. 
Habit  is  the  great  time-saving  device  of  our  moral 
as  well  as  our  mental  and  physical  life.  To  translate 
the  moral  laws  which  the  race  has  worked  out  for 
us  into  unconscious  habits  of  action  is  the  crowning 
step  in  the  conquest  of  character.  These  laws  are 
our  great  moral  safeguards.  They  come  to  us  long 
before  we  are  able  to  form  any  theory  of  their  ori- 
gin or  authority,  and  abide  with  us  long  after  our 
speculations  are  forgotten.  If  ethical  theory  is 
compelled  to  question  their  meaning  and  challenge 
their  authority,  it  does  so  in  the  interest  of  a  deeper 
morality,  which  appeals  from  the  letter  of  the  law 
to  the  spirit  of  life  of  which  all  laws  are  the  sym- 
bolic expression. 


The  Continuity  and  Contrast  of  College  and 
the  World 

He  that  is  not  against  yon  is  for  you.  —  Lnke  ix.  50. 
He  that  is  not  with  me  is  against  me.  —  Lnke  xi.  23. 

/  rpiHE  contrast  between  college  life  and  life  in 
^  JL  the  outside  world  is  happily  indicated  in  these 
contrasted  texts.  In  college  the  lenient  law,  He  that 
is  not  against  you  is  for  you ;  in  the  world  outside 
the  severe  standard,  He  that  is  not  with  me  is 
against  me,  prevails.  A  moment's  reflection  on  the 
different  conditions  in  college  and  in  the  outside 
world  will  make  plain  the  reason  for  the  different 
laws. 

College  life  is  artificially  simple.  With  the  single 
exception  of  club  life,  it  is  the  narrowest  life  a  man 
can  live.  The  great  realities  that  condition  life  in 
the  outside  world  —  the  care  of  the  aged,  the  rearing 
of  the  young,  the  struggle  for  daily  bread,  the  strain 
of  business,  the  stress  of  politics,  the  weight  of  pro- 
fessional and  administrative  responsibility  —  are 
either  entirel}"  absent  or  present  only  in  artificial 
miniature.  Welcome  checks  for  the  wealthy,  gen- 
erous scholarships  for  those  whose  fortune  is  chiefly 
their  own  talent  and  industry,  eliminate  the  fierce 


COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD  115 

struggle  for  existence  from  tMs  charmed  circle  of 
midergraduate  life.  The  absence  of  the  fair  sex  re- 
moves at  least  to  a  distance  the  chief  source  of  emo- 
tional interest  in  real  life.  Where  men  touch  each 
other  only  at  a  few  points,  such  as  social  intercourse, 
class,  college,  and  society  politics,  college  publica- 
tions, and  athletics,  the  man  who  can't  pass  muster 
on  these  easy  terms  must  be  a  hopeless  case.  With 
health,  wealth,  youth,  leisure,  choice  companionship, 
regular  and  inspiring  but  not  too  difficult  tasks, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  great  contests,  all  provided 
and  thrown  into  his  lap,  a  man  may  indeed  be  dull, 
selfish,  censorious,  conceited,  cowardly,  contempti- 
ble. But  if  he  is,  sharp  eyes  are  swift  to  detect  and 
punish  him.  He  is  speedily  dubbed  a  "  dope  "  or 
a  "  stiff  "  or  a  "  tripe  "  or  a  "  snob  "  or  a  "  berry," 
or  some  other  of  the  grotesque,  slangy  terms,  more 
forcible  than  elegant,  by  which  college  students 
brand  the  fellows  who  are  sleepy  and  tactless,  irri- 
table and  complaining,  self-centred  and  treacherous. 
Thus  the  man  who  is  cheap,  the  man  who  "  swipes," 
the  man  who  is  swelled-headed,  and  the  man  who  is 
sandless  either  gets  these  obnoxious  qualities  taken 
out  of  him  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  college  course, 
or  else  is  distinctly  marked  off  as  a  man  who  is 
against  you.  Under  this  summary  treatment,  almost 
every  student  sooner  or  later  comes  to  terms  ;  and 
by  the  time  Junior  year  is  reached,  pretty  nearly 
every  member  of  the  class  has  been  brought  into 


116    THE  CONTINUITY  AND  CONTRAST 

line  as  at  least  not  against  you  in  these  cheap  forms 
of  self-conceit  and  self-assertion,  of  courting  favor 
or  dodging  difficulty.  When  Class  Day  comes, 
therefore,  it  finds  a  group  of  men  who  have  been 
trained  by  each  other  to  be  wide-awake  and  tactful, 
genial  and  courteous,  kindly  in  comments  on  one  an- 
other, generous  in  small  things  as  well  as  in  great, 
and  cheerful  when  tilings  don't  quite  suit  them :  men 
who  will  give  each  other  their  best,  and  take  from 
their  fellows  nothing  they  have  not  fairly  earned ; 
men  who  can  lose  all  thought  of  themselves  in  devo- 
tion to  common  ends,  and  who  will  put  forth  the 
last  ounce  of  energy  in  them  before  they  wiU  be 
beaten  in  the  game  they  set  out  to  play,  or  give  up 
the  work  they  "  go  in  for,"  or  go  back  on  the  friends 
whom  they  love.  Having  learned  not  to  be  for 
themselves,  and  against  you,  they  are  rightly  re- 
garded as  for  you,  and  counted  as  fi^ends  and  good 
fellows  for  all  the  rest  of  your  lives^ 

Henceforth  you  take  your  places  in  the  great 
world  of  men  and  women,  scholars  and  toilers,  busi- 
ness and  politics.  The  principles  which  prevail 
there  are  precisely  the  same  as  those  which  you  have 
discovered  and  enforced  on  each  other  here.  But 
there  is  this  great  difference.  Here  it  is  easy  to  be 
a  good  f eUow ;  there  it  is  much  harder.  Here  you 
live  so  close  to  each  other  that  bad  traits  are  quickly 
detected  and  punished ;  there  they  can  be  concealed 
for  a  time,  and  the  penalty  may  be  long  delayed. 


OF  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD      117 

Here  the  social  forces  are  all  tending  to  make  you 
a  good  fellow ;  there  the  dominant  forces  are  work- 
ing the  other  way.  (To  be  a  good  feUow  in  college, 
as  we  have  seen,  means  that  you  shall  give  your 
best  to  your  fellows,  and  take  nothing  from  them 
you  do  not  fairly  earn ;  that  you  shall  be  brotherly 
and  seK-sacrificing)  To  do  these  same  four  things, 
not  in  the  artificial  and  sheltered  environment  of  a 
coUege,  toward  a  little  group  of  congenial  and  cul- 
tivated men,  but  in  the  wider  relations  of  domestic, 
economic,  professional,  and  political  life,  toward 
men  and  women,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
learned  and  ignorant ;  toward  all  persons  in  aU  the 
broad  relations  of  life  to  give  your  best,  and  take 
nothing  you  do  not  fairly  earn,  to  be  brotherly  and 
to  be  seH-sacrificing,  —  that  is  what  it  means  in  real 
life  to  be  good  fellows,  gentlemen.  Christians.  Let 
us  consider  these  traits  one  by  one. 

First:  Give  your  best.  When  a  young  man 
graduates  he  is  bound  to  take  one  of  two  courses. 
Either  he  will  look  for  a  place  ready-made  to  fit 
him,  or  else  he  will  set  out  to  fit  himself  for  a  place. 
The  economic  difference  between  a  cheap  man  and 
a  man  who  gives  his  best  first  comes  out  there.  Ed- 
mond  DemoHns,  a  French  writer  on  "  Anglo-Saxon 
Superiority :  To  What  it  is  Due,"  points  out  that 
Anglo-Saxon  superiority  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
young  Anglo-Saxon  at  once  sets  out  to  make  a 
career  for  himseK  by  his  own  initiative,  originality, 


118    THE  CONTINUITY  AND  CONTRAST 

and  independence ;  while  the  young  Frenchman  ex. 
pects  his  father  to  provide  him  with  a  government 
office,  a  wife,  and  a  dowry.  "  Ask  a  hundred  young 
Frenchmen  just  out  of  school,"  he  says,  "  to  what 
careers  they  are  inclined ;  three  quarters  of  them 
will  answer  you  that  they  are  candidates  for  govern- 
ment offices."  This  dependence  on  "  ready-made 
situations,  in  which  advancement  is  the  reward  of 
patience  rather  than  of  constant  effort,"  with  its 
attendant  negation  of  initiative,  passive  obedience, 
uniformity  of  opinions  and  ideas,  and  absence  of 
individuality,  he  declares  to  be  the  open  secret  of 
French  inferiority.  To  cast  about  to  find  a  soft 
berth,  a  good  salary,  which  can  be  secured  by  in- 
fluence and  held  by  inertia,  is  to  start  out  in  life  a 
cheap  man.  The  true  Anglo-Saxon  is  he  who  looks 
for  a  chance  somewhere  to  begin  at  the  bottom, 
master  some  single  department  of  this  great  indus- 
trial order,  and  show  to  the  world  that  he  can  do 
that  thing  better  than  any  other  available  man ; 
not  to  get  onto  the  pay-roU  of  some  big  corporation, 
or  fill  a  government  post  which  a  hundred  other 
men  could  fill  just  as  well,  but  to  prepare  himself 
to  do  something  so  well  that  the  corporation  or  the 
government  wiU  find  his  services  essential  to  their 
highest  efficiency.  That  is  the  first  mark  of  a  high- 
priced  man  in  the  actual  life  of  the  world.  In  pri- 
vate business  not  to  be  a  parasite,  but  a  sound  and 
healthy  member  of  the  working  whole ;  in  political 


OF  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD     119 

action  to  support  the  government,  not  simply  to  be 
supported  by  it,  is  what  it  means  to  fulfill  in  the 
great  outside  world  the  first  qualification  of  a  gen- 
tleman and  a  Christian,  which  you  have  learned  to 
recognize  here  in  your  small  student  world. 

Second :  Take  nothing  you  do  not  pay  for,  and 
pay  the  full  price.  I  will  not  detain  you  to  speak 
of  literal  running  in  debt,  nor  of  passes,  or  rebates, 
or  discounts,  or  favors  gained  through  family  in- 
fluence or  professional  status  or  political  pull.  The 
honest  man  will  have  none  of  them.  I  speak  of 
more  vital  matters.  One  half  of  the  great  world 
you  now  enter  are  women,  and  they  are  the  better 
half  by  far,  as  all  who  have  known  a  mother  attest. 
The  very  best  thing  in  the  world  is  a  good  woman's 
love.  You  can  pay  for  it  with  nothing  less  precious 
than  the  entire  respect  and  reverence  of  your  own 
heart.  To  receive  a  woman's  love,  or  even  the 
physical  symbol  of  it,  and  offer  in  payment  merely 
transient  and  unmeant  endearment,  or,  worse  still, 
to  offer  money,  is  the  meanest  form  of  getting 
something  for  less  than  its  price  to  which  a  man  can 
descend.  I  might  point  out  that  it  is  undermining 
the  most  sacred  social  institution  which  generations 
have  toiled  to  evolve ;  I  might  say  that  it  is  poison- 
ing life  at  its  source  ;  I  might  introduce  the  loath- 
some details  and  the  cruelty  to  innocent  wives  and 
children  which  the  physician  so  well  understands. 
Here  to-day  I  put  it  on  the  plain  ground  you  all 


120    THE  CONTINUITY  AND  CONTRAST 

appreciate  and  approve,  —  on  the  ground  of  simple 
honesty  and  common  honor,  which  scorns  to  get 
anything  under  false  pretences,  and  least  of  all  will 
take  from  a  woman  her  most  precious  jewel  and 
not  pay  its  full  price. 

Third :  Be  brotherly.  You  remember  how  dis- 
agreeable it  was  to  have  young  fellows  coming  here 
with  their  heads  full  of  their  own  family  or  wealth 
or  school  achievements  or  personal  importance,  and 
how  essential  it  was  to  give  them  to  understand 
that  the  university  was  of  quite  as  much  conse- 
quence as  they  thought  themselves  to  be.  When 
you  go  out  into  the  world,  don't  make  the  same 
mistake  that  these  swelled-headed  fellows  made 
when  they  came  here.  Not  one  man  in  a  thousand 
in  this  work-a-day  world  has  had  the  advantages 
you  have  had.  But  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  hold  yourself  aloof  from  these  hard-working, 
plain-living  brothers  of  yours.  You  eat  the  bread 
the  farmer,  the  ranchman,  the  butcher,  the  grocer, 
prepare  for  you.  You  live  in  houses  the  forester, 
the  stone-cutter,  the  carpenter,  the  mason,  the 
painter,  the  upholsterer  furnish  for  you.  You 
wear  the  clothing  which  the  shepherd,  the  plan- 
tation hand,  the  mill-operative,  the  shopkeeper,  the 
seamstress,  the  tailor  provide  for  you.  You  sit  by 
the  fire  the  miner,  the  locomotive  engineer,  the 
brakeman,  the  sailor,  the  teamster  has  built  in 
your  grate.    Have  you  yet  done  anything  for  them 


OF  COLLEGE  AND  THE   WORLD      121 

that  is  worth  as  much  as  these  things  they  are 
daily  doing  for  you  ?  If  not,  then  look  up  to  them 
with  heartfelt  gratitude  and  admiration,  as  the 
soldier  says  to  the  water-carrier  in  Kipling's  line,  — 

You  're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga  Din. 

When  you  get  your  work  well  in  hand,  then, 
indeed,  you  may  look  on  these  toiling  millions  as 
your  brothers,  provided  you  go  about  your  work  as 
cheerfully  and  steadily  and  faithfully  and  efficiently 
as  they  on  the  whole  do  theirs.  But  never,  never 
shall  you  look  on  them  with  indifference  or  con- 
descension. If  ever  you  are  able  to  do  your  work 
exceptionally  well,  if  ever  it  is  given  you  to  occupy 
positions  of  great  influence,  then  if  you  are  true 
men,  with  the  true  instinct  of  human  brotherhood, 
the  chief  satisfaction  you  will  find  in  it  all  wiU  be 
the  thought  that  the  efficiency  of  the  corporation 
you  control,  or  the  soundness  of  the  professional 
counsel  you  give,  or  the  beneficence  of  the  public 
policy  you  carry  out,  or  the  justice  of  the  views 
you  disseminate,  may  help  to  make  the  laborer's 
work  more  steady  and  his  wages  more  fair,  his 
street  more  healthful  and  his  home  more  happy, 
his  government  more  pure  and  his  lot  in  life  more 
worthy  of  man.  You  may  or  may  not  enter  into 
distinctively  settlement  and  philanthropic  work. 
Valuable  as  these  things  are,  they  can  do  little 
more  than  alleviate  symptoms.    Even   that  every 


122    THE  CONTINUITY   AND  CONTRAST 

man  ought  to  engage  in  who  can.  The  solution, 
however,  of  our  great  social  problem  must  come 
through  just  such  well-trained,  energetic,  ambitious 
fellows  as  you,  who  get  professional  skiU,  corporate 
wealth,  political  power  in  their  hands,  and  then  use 
it,  not,  like  the  first  souls  Dante  discovered  in 
hell,  "  for  themselves,"  but  to  give  every  worker 
his  chance  of  steady  employment  and  his  fair  share 
of  the  worth  of  his  work,  and  to  make  possible  for 
the  working  man  and  working  woman  a  domestic, 
social,  intellectual,  moral,  and  spiritual  life  that  is 
really  worth  living.  The  man  who  goes  into  life 
with  such  a  sense  of  brotherhood  and  an  earnest 
desire  to  add  his  little  mite  to  the  common  stock  of 
human  welfare  wiU  not  be  much  troubled  with  the 
sense  of  his  own  self-importance. 

Fourth :  Be  self-sacrificing.  Hegel  tells  us  in 
one  of  his  profoundest  passages  that  in  the  eye 
of  fate  all  action  is  guilt,  for  it  is  necessarily 
one-sided,  —  for  the  sake  of  one  set  of  interests 
it  sacrifices  another  set  of  interests  equally  vital. 
You  must  sacrifice;  you  must  suffer.  The  great 
claims  we  have  been  considering  and  the  clamor  of 
our  petty  appetites  and  passing  passions  never  co- 
incide, but  are  in  perpetual  warfare.  You  may  side 
with  the  petty  private  good,  which  circumstances 
and  companions  are  never  wanting  to  reinforce ; 
but  in  order  to  do  that  you  sacrifice  the  large  social 
claims,  the  wide  area  of  human  good.    In  doing  so 


OF  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD      123 

you  array  these  larger  powers  against  you.  They 
visit  you  with  disease,  degradation,  disgrace,  dis- 
aster, death.  The  best  part  of  you  suffers ;  the 
suffering  is  imposed  upon  you  by  alien  and  hostile 
forces.  You  live  the  life  of  an  outlaw,  and  you  die 
the  death  of  a  slave. 

Or  you  may  serve  the  larger  good,  and  live  in 
loyalty  to  the  claims  of  human  brotherhood  and 
the  social  law  of  God.  Then  it  wiU  be  the  lower 
and  the  lesser  side  of  you  on  which  the  suffering 
falls,  and  even  that  will  be  freely  chosen  and  cheer- 
fully endured  for  the  sake  of  the  larger  good.  To 
suffer  in  this  way  is  to  be  free  and  strong  and  brave. 
In  the  language  of  the  Second  Epistle  of  Peter,  it 
is  to  suffer,  not  as  an  evil-doer,  but  as  a  Christian. 

Start  where  you  will  in  the  moral  world,  if  you 
foUow  principles  to  their  conclusions  they  always 
lead  you  up  to  Christ.  He  touched  life  so  deeply, 
so  broadly,  and  so  truly  that  all  brave,  generous 
living  is  summed  up  in  him.  Starting  with  the  code 
you  have  here  worked  out  for  yourselves,  translat- 
ing it  into  positive  terms,  and  enlarging  it  to  the 
dimensions  of  the  world  you  are  about  to  enter, 
your  code  becomes  simply  a  fresh  interpretation  of 
the  meaning  of  the  Christian  life.  All  that  we  have 
been  saying  has  its  counterpart  in  that  great  life 
of  his.  He  gave  his  best ;  and  how  good  and  bene- 
ficent it  was !  A  few  years  of  kindly  ministry  to 
human  needs  as  he  found  them,  in  the  street  and 


124   THE  CONTINUITY  AND  CONTRAST 

in  the  home,  on  the  highway  and  in  the  temple ! 
A  few  discourses  to  unappreciative  crowds  gathered 
on  the  hillside  or  by  the  lake-shore,  with  patient 
interpretation  to  a  little  group  of  learners,  only 
slightly  less  dull  and  slow  than  the  masses  whence 
they  came !  Yet  what  countless  homes  have  been 
made  happier,  what  a  mighty  mass  of  misery  has 
been  lifted,  what  priceless  blessings  have  been  con- 
ferred by  institutions  his  spirit  has  informed,  what 
splendid  nobility  of  character  has  been  inspired  in 
millions  of  his  followers,  through  love  to  him  who 
in  this  brief,  simple  life  in  an  obscure  Roman  pro- 
vince gave  to  the  world  his  best !  To  be  for  him 
in  this  twentieth  century  means  that  in  all  the  com- 
plexity of  business,  political,  and  social  life,  whether 
it  is  asked  or  declined,  whether  it  is  appreciated  or 
criticised,  whether  it  is  admired  or  condemned,  you 
give  to  the  world  your  best. 

He  took  nothing  he  did  not  pay  for.  To  minis- 
ter rather  than  to  be  ministered  unto  was  his  aim. 
He  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  The  world  was 
his  debtor.  The  extreme  simplicity  of  life  which 
he  found  incidental  to  the  life  of  a  teacher  in  an 
ancient  oriental  community  is  by  no  means  en- 
joined upon  you.  Large  work  in  these  days  gen- 
erally requires  considerable  of  what  Aristotle  called 
"  furniture  of  fortune."  The  banker,  the  railroad 
president,  the  corporation  counsel,  the  mayor  can- 
not do  their  best  work  on  the  terms  on  which  the 


OF  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD      125 

foxes  and  the  birds  of  the  air  do  theirs.  But  the 
principle  of  Jesus,  the  principle  that  no  poor  man 
shall  work  the  harder,  no  woman  shall  be  sadder,  no 
good  institution  shall  be  weaker,  and  no  bad  cus- 
tom more  prevalent,  for  aught  that  we  have  done 
or  left  undone ;  that  principle  holds  for  us  as  firmly 
as  it  did  when  Jesus  first  proclaimed  and  practiced 
it.  So  to  live  is  to  be  for  Christ.  To  take  from 
man  or  woman,  private  corporation  or  government 
office,  anything  for  which  you  do  not  give  a  full 
equivalent,  is  to  be  against  Christ  to-day. 

He  said  and  did  nothing  of  himself,  nor  for  his 
own  glory.  He  simply  said  and  did  what  the  situ- 
ation called  for,  and  tact,  sympathy,  friendliness, 
and  brotherhood  suggested.  The  only  greatness  he 
encouraged  in  his  followers  was  the  greatness  of 
service.  To  be  for  Christ  is  to  have  the  sense  that 
the  lowliest  who  are  affected  one  way  or  the  other 
by  your  action  are,  unconsciously  and  indirectly 
and  incidentally  for  the  most  part,  but  yet  genu- 
inely and  substantially,  made  a  little  richer,  wiser, 
healthier,  happier,  by  what  you  are  doing. 

He  suffered.  If  you  put  aside  the  veils  of  inter- 
pretation theologians  have  drawn  over  that  simple 
fact,  his  suffering  speaks  for  itself.  He  had  the 
choice  that  comes  to  all.  On  the  one  side  he  saw 
personal  popularity  within  the  narrow  circle  of  his 
few  chosen  friends  and  admirers,  yet  with  it  the 
certainty  that  his  name  and  his  work  would  did 


126    THE  CONTINUITY  AND  CONTRAST 

with  him,  —  leaving  the  national  sins  unrebuked, 
the  national  religion  unreformed,  the  world's  sin- 
fulness unexposed,  the  true  life  of  man  and  the 
great  love  of  God  unrevealed.  On  the  other  side 
he  saw  his  work  put  on  a  world-wide  basis,  his 
message  and  spirit  bequeathed  to  mankind  for  all 
time  ;  but  for  himself,  the  envy  of  pontifical  cliques 
and  the  hatred  of  political  rings ;  the  scourge,  the 
thorn-crown,  and  the  cross.  The  latter  he  cheer- 
fully chose. 

To  be  for  him  in  our  day  is  to  be  for  the  costly 
right  against  the  profitable  wrong  ;  for  unpopular 
truth  against  unanimous  error  ;  for  patient,  plod- 
ding details  of  duty,  against  specious  and  tawdry 
abstractions  ;  for  the  exposed  frontier  of  progress, 
against  stagnation  intrenched  in  tradition. 

The  college,  like  the  Christian  home,  is  so  or- 
ganized that  mere  non-resistance,  mere  acceptance 
of  the  influences  that  surround  you,  tends  to  make 
one  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian.  Even  if  a  man 
inclines  to  drop  below  the  standard  which  the  col- 
lege community  sets  up,  keen  eyes  are  on  him,  and 
kindly  criticism  promptly  calls  attention  to  his  de- 
fects.   He  that  is  not  against  you  is  for  you. 

In  the  world  the  other  law  prevails.  The  ten- 
dencies are  strong  against  the  higher  life.  There 
non-resistance  is  destruction.  For  in  the  complex- 
ity of  social  life  the  average  man  does  not  see  the 
bearing  of  these  baser  traits  as  you  see  them  among 


OP  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD      127 

yourselves  here.  A  man  can  palm  off  poor  work, 
and  get  something  for  nothing ;  he  can  put  on  airs 
in  public  and  be  a  coward  at  heart,  and  deceive 
the  world  for  a  time.  In  offices  and  stores,  in  rail- 
way trains  and  hotel  corridors,  in  factories  and 
mines,  in  court-rooms  and  lobbies,  the  pressure  of 
the  environment  is  not  up,  but  down ;  not  toward 
the  just,  generous,  brave,  brotherly  life,  but  toward 
selfish  indulgence  and  gain  at  no  matter  what  cost 
of  cruel  injustice  to  the  people  who  afford  you 
amusement  or  out  of  whom  your  money  is  made. 

The  Christ  of  the  twentieth  century  is  not  ex« 
actly  the  same  as  the  sectarian  Christ  of  the  nine- 
teenth, or  the  dogmatic  Christ  of  the  sixteenth,  or 
the  official  Christ  of  the  thirteenth,  or  the  metar 
physical  Christ  of  the  fourth,  or  even  the  Christ 
after  the  flesh,  which  Paul  had  already  outgrown 
in  the  first  century.  The  Christ  of  the  twentieth 
century  is  preeminently  the  social  Christ,  and  is 
greater  than  all  that  has-  gone  before.  He  is  the 
Christ  who  wiU  give  of  his  best  to  the  world,  and 
take  no  more  than  he  gives ;  the  Christ  who  calls 
the  poorest  his  brother,  and  will  endure  all  things 
for  his  sake. 

There  is  not  a  man  among  you  who  wishes  to  be 
against  such  a  glorious  Christ  as  that :  who  would 
get  his  living  or  any  part  of  it  out  of  the  world 
without  giving  at  least  as  good  as  he  gets,  who 
would  make  the  lot  of  the  world's  toilers  the  harder 


128         COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD 

by  shifting  his  own  load  onto  them.  Yet  that  is 
precisely  what  you  will  find  yourselves  doing,  un- 
less you  are  positively  and  earnestly  for  Christ. 
The  only  way  to  escape  it  is  to  give  yourselves  to 
him  in  entire  consecration  as  you  now  go  out  into 
life ;  and  then  as  opportunity  offers,  whether  in 
Catholic  cathedral  or  Methodist  chapel,  whether  in 
the  crowded  streets  of  noisy  cities  or  alone  upon 
the  prairie  under  the  silent  stars,  to  renew  day  by 
day  your  devotion  to  him,  and  the  just,  generous, 
brotherly,  brave  social  service  for  which  the  Christ 
of  the  twentieth  century  stands. 


VI 

The  More  Excellent  Way 

Covet  earnestly  the  best  gifts :  and  yet  show  I  unto  you  a  more 
excellent  way.  —  1  Cor.  xii.  31. 

MY  theme  is  not  the  familiar  and  funda- 
mental distinction  between  good  and  evil. 
Taking  that  for  granted,  my  text  proceeds  to  sub- 
divide the  good  into  degrees  ;  contrasting  the  good 
and  the  more  excellent. 

I  might  set  forth  the  difference  between  the  two 
ways  by  abstract  definition,  and  say  that  one  is  sub- 
jective, the  other  objective ;  one  introspective,  the 
other  self-f orgetf ul ;  one  abnormal  and  artificial, 
the  other  healthy  and  natural ;  one  cold  and  cal- 
culating, the  other  hearty  and  generous.  I  might 
picture  the  seK-conscious  struggle  for  personal  ex- 
cellence, with  its  morbid  conscientiousness,  its  per- 
petual alternation  of  hope  and  despair,  its  frequent 
self-examinations,  its  rigorous,  self-imposed  exac- 
tions, its  close  and  stifling  atmosphere  of  self-cen- 
tred solicitude ;  and  over  against  all  that  portray 
the  cheerful  confidence,  the  exulting  eagerness,  the 
glorious  liberty  to  be  found  in  that  more  excellent 
way  which  leads  along  the  sunlit  heights  of  ardu- 
ous endeavor  for  the  love  of  God  and  for  the  help 
of  man. 


130        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

Verbal  definition  and  description,  however,  give 
us  at  best  only  faint  images,  while  what  we  want  is, 
if  possible,  to  grasp  the  idea  itself.  Now  an  idea, 
if  true  and  real,  always  has  more  than  one  em- 
bodiment, and  crops  out  in  many  spheres.  Uni- 
versality of  application  is  the  test  of  the  truth  of 
an  idea.  Let  us  then  try  first  to  discover  our  idea 
in  the  more  familiar  spheres  of  every-day  affairs. 
If  we  can  find  it  in  the  gymnasium  and  study,  we 
shall  be  all  the  better  able  to  apprehend  it  when 
we  come  back  to  the  chapel. 

There  are  two  ways  of  physical  development: 
one  good,  the  other  more  excellent.  One  way  says, 
Covet  earnestly  the  best  physical  gifts.  Aim  di- 
rectly at  the  cultivation  of  health,  strength,  and 
symmetry.  Follow  out  minutely  the  directions  laid 
down  in  the  Handbook  of  Developing  Exercises. 
Keep  the  eye  constantly  upon  the  lines  of  the  An- 
thropometric Chart.  Test  your  development  by 
frequent  examinations  and  measurements. 

This  method  is  good.  It  is  infinitely  better  than 
no  method.  For  students,  for  men  and  women 
whose  occupations  confine  them  within  doors  the 
greater  part  of  the  day,  this  is  the  best  method 
available.  For  you,  as  you  are  situated  here,  it  is 
the  essential  and  indispensable  condition  of  main- 
taining health  and  increasing  strength. 

Yet  for  those  who  can  avail  themselves  of  it 
there   is   a   more   excellent   way.    Forgetting   all 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        131 

about  muscles  and  their  measurements,  the  Hand- 
book and  its  directions,  the  gymnasium  and  its 
apparatus,  the  man  who  follows  the  more  excellent 
way  will  live  an  outdoor  life.  He  will  hunt  and 
fish,  fell  trees  and  make  hay,  build  fences  and  lay 
stone  walls,  plough  and  sow  and  reap  and  thresh. 
The  woman  who  follows  the  better  way  will  walk, 
skate,  row,  ride  horseback,  climb  mountains,  bathe 
in  the  surf,  do  housework,  have  a  garden  of  her 
own,  and  take  care  of  plants  and  animals. 

The  first  method  gives  muscle ;  the  second  gives 
muscle  and  nerve  both.  One  gives  strength ;  the 
other  gives  vigor,  vitality,  and  endurance.  One 
produces  for  the  time  a  great  many  points  of  spe- 
cial excellence ;  the  other  builds  up  and  holds  in 
reserve  a  store  of  energy  lasting  for  years,  and  con- 
vertible into  any  form  which  the  occasion  may  re- 
quire. 

Thus  the  objective  method,  which  loses  thought 
of  self -development  in  the  pursuit  of  definite  exter- 
nal ends,  not  only  accomplishes  its  immediate  aims, 
but  at  the  same  time  gives  a  physical  development 
compared  with  which  the  development  of  the  mere 
pupil  of  gymnastics  is  in  every  essential  respect 
inferior. 

There  are  two  ways  in  the  intellectual  life,  —  one 
good  as  far  as  it  goes,  the  other  more  excellent. 
The  first  way  is  the  way  of  intellectual  ambition. 
It  says,  "Covet   earnestly   the   best   intellectual 


132        THE   MORE   EXCELLENT  WAY 

gifts."  It  seeks  culture  for  the  sake  of  having  it, 
and  strives  for  intellectual  accomplishments  for 
the  pride  it  has  in  their  possession.  It  studies  for 
rank,  and  is  covetous  of  academic  degrees  and 
honors. 

Now,  this  is  not  altogether  bad.  As  compared 
with  idleness  and  indifference,  it  marks  a  great 
advance.  At  certain  stages  in  student  life  this  in- 
tellectual ambition  ought  to  be  stimulated  and  en- 
couraged. 

Yet,  sooner  or  later,  every  student  who  is  to  be- 
come a  scholar  must  enter  upon  a  more  excellent 
way,  as  far  above  mere  intellectual  ambition  as 
that  is  above  indolence  and  mental  sloth.  In  the 
course  of  your  studies  has  there  ever  appeared  to 
you  a  vision  of  one  or  another  of  the  sisterhood 
of  sciences  —  Philology,  Mathematics,  History, 
Chemistry,  or  Literature  —  claiming  you  as  her 
servant  by  the  divine  right  of  the  affinity  of  her 
truths  for  your  mind  ?  And,  in  response,  has  there 
stirred  within  you  a  burning  desire  to  have  the 
vision  become  to  you  an  abiding  presence,  a  per- 
petual inspiration  ?  Have  you  felt  eager  and  glad 
to  devote  your  life  to  making  the  vision  of  that 
truth  first  of  all  distinct  and  clear  to  your  own 
eyes,  and  then  to  become  the  interpreter  of  its 
majesty  and  beauty  to  the  world  ?  And  have  you 
so  surrendered  yourself  to  this  high  and  holy  ser- 
vice of  the  truth  that  all  concern   as  to  what  of 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        133 

honor  or  neglect,  fame  or  obscurity,  wealth  or  pov- 
erty, may  come  to  you  in  consequence  of  your 
scholarly  pursuits,  is  lost  in  the  fullness  of  joy 
which  the  nearer  and  clearer  communion  with  your 
science  gives  from  day  to  day  ? 

If  you  have  thus  seen  and  felt  truth's  compeUing 
charm,  and  if  you  have  found  out  the  delight  of 
studying  for  truth's  sake,  then  you  know  that  he 
that  is  least  in  the  kingdom  of  such  genuine  scholar- 
ship is  greater  than  the  greatest  of  those  who  strive 
to  climb  to  distinction  on  the  ladder  of  intellectual 
ambition. 

If  you  have  seen  no  such  vision  and  responded  to 
no  such  call,  then  indeed  you  may  be  useful  and 
honorable  in  other  spheres  and  relationships  of 
life ;  you  may  do  good  service  in  the  lower  grades 
of  teaching ;  you  may  know  many  things  and  win 
much  fame  for  your  cleverness ;  but  the  highest 
spheres  of  intellectual  life,  with  their  "  calm  pleas- 
ures and  majestic  pains,"  must  remain  for  you  for- 
ever closed. 

It  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world  —  intel- 
lectually it  is  a  question  of  health  and  life  or  dis- 
ease and  death  —  whether  you  find  this  better  way 
or  not.  The  student  who  is  animated  by  mere  ambi- 
tion does  not  hold  out  long  after  leaving  college. 
The  actual  world  has  no  ranking  system,  no  scheme 
of  so  much  honor  for  so  much  toil,  no  food  pre- 
pared at  stated  intervals  for  intellectual  vanity  to 


134        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

feed  upon.  Truth  herself,  however,  to  her  true  fol- 
lowers then  becomes  most  sweet  and  sustaining 
when  artificial  stimulus  is  withdrawn. 

Hence  the  one  way  renders  the  student  proud, 
haughty,  and  exacting.  The  other  way  keeps  the 
student  meek,  modest,  and  gentle.  The  follower  of 
the  one  grows  sour  and  bitter  as  the  dragging  years 
bring  less  and  less  of  recognition.  The  disciple  of 
the  other  grows  sweet  and  cheerful  as  the  busy, 
eager  days  bring  fresh  food  for  thought  and  in- 
quiry. 

The  one  is  boastful  of  what  he  has  done  and  can 
do,  but  in  time  of  real  trial  he  is  found  wanting. 
The  other  is  unconscious  and  distrustful  of  his 
powers ;  but  put  him  face  to  face  with  concrete  dif- 
ficulty and  duty,  and  he  is  equal  to  the  task. 

If  now  we  have  formed  an  idea  of  the  distinc- 
tion between  the  good  and  the  more  excellent  way 
in  physical  and  intellectual  pursuits,  we  are  pre- 
pared to  appreciate  the  difference  between  the  two 
ways  of  spiritual  life. 

One  method  says  :  Covet  earnestly  the  best  spir- 
itual gifts.  Be  anxious  about  your  individual  souFs 
salvation.  Make  sure  of  an  abundant  entrance  into 
heaven.  Cultivate  assiduously  the  Christian  graces. 
Examine  yourself  frequently  to  see  whether  you  are 
making  satisfactory  progress. 

According  to  this  method  the  fundamental  ques- 
tion is,  "  What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  "  The  start- 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        135 

ing-point  is  the  man  himseK ;  and  God  is  thought 
of  primarily  as  the  instrumentality  by  which  this 
salvation  is  to  be  wrought  out.  To  be  sure,  this 
method  includes  the  thought  and  the  desire  that 
other  individuals  must  be  saved  according  to  the 
same  plan.  Herein  lies  its  missionary  motive.  And 
a  powerful  motive  it  has  been,  and  noble  is  the 
work  it  has  accomplished. 

Indeed,  it  is  to  the  strong  infusion  of  this  way 
of  thinking,  permeating  the  religious  life  of  New 
England  for  a  quarter  of  a  millennium  as  the  salt 
permeates  the  waters  of  the  sea,  that  we  owe  what 
is  grandest  and  noblest  in  our  life  at  home,  and 
what  is  most  potent  and  beneficent  in  the  influence 
of  New  England  over  other  sections  of  our  own 
country  and  on  foreign  missionary  ground.  A  full 
and  generous  recognition  of  the  goodness  of  this 
way,  however,  ought  not  to  prevent  us  from  seeing 
and  pursuing  a  way  more  excellent,  if  such  there 
be. 

What,  then,  is  this  more  excellent  way  ?  It  is 
the  devotion  of  heart  and  life  to  God's  loving  will, 
revealed  in  Christ,  whose  object  is  the  well-being 
of  mankind. 

Wherein  does  this  differ  from  the  previous  way  ? 
Its  starting-point  is  God  and  his  eternal  love,  not 
man  and  his  lost  condition.  Its  characteristic  ques- 
tion is  not  that  of  the  terrified  Philippian  jailer, 
who,  in  his  confusion  and  despair,  and  on  the  point 


136        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

of  suicide,  cried  out,  "  Sirs,  what  must  I  do  to  be 
saved  ?  "  That  was  the  question  of  a  man  of  whom 
we  know  nothing  more  than  that  he  and  his  house- 
hold were  baptized  and  made  happy. 

That  is  good  ;  but  the  question  characteristic  of 
the  more  excellent  way  is  the  question  of  the  Apoa- 
tle  himself,  who,  when  the  vision  of  the  Christ  came 
to  him,  exclaimed,  "  Who  art  thou.  Lord  ?  "  This 
is  the  question  of  the  man  whose  conversion  carried 
with  it  the  conversion  of  the  Western  world. 

Not  anxious  solicitude  to  make  the  best  possible 
provision  for  self  here  and  hereafter,  but  eager  ear- 
nestness to  know  God  and  to  serve  him  now  and 
evermore,  —  this  is  the  starting-point  in  the  more 
excellent  way.  Not  the  salvation  of  self,  not  the 
cultivation  of  private  graces  and  personal  gifts,  but 
the  knowledge  of  God  and  the  service  of  our  fellow- 
men,  God's  children,  is  its  end  and  aim.  Not  our 
own  blessedness  as  a  consequence  of  God's  special 
favor  to  us  as  individuals,  but  the  greatness  of 
God's  love  and  the  joy  we  may  have  in  sharing 
vrith  God  this  universal  love  of  his  to  all  his  chil- 
dren, —  this  is  the  motive  and  inspiration  of  this 
better  sort  of  religious  life. 

The  better  way  is  consistent  with  the  possession 
of  the  highest  gifts.  Indeed,  it  calls  for  them,  it 
uses  them,  it  makes  the  most  of  them.  But  it  seeks 
them  not  for  their  own  sake,  not  for  the  sake  of  the 
satisfaction  the  individual  takes  in  having  them, 


THE  MORE   EXCELLENT  WAY        137 

not  for  the  promise  they  give  of  future  happiness, 
but  for  the  worth  they  have  as  instruments  for 
expressing  and  realizing  the  glorious  love  of  God 
toward  all  his  children.  Yet  while  this  more  ex- 
cellent way  makes  the  best  and  highest  use  of  all 
religious  gifts,  it  is  still  something  more  and  higher 
than  any  or  aU  these  gifts.  One  may  have  all  faith 
and  all  orthodoxy ;  one  may  be  active  in  prayer- 
meeting  and  Sabbath-school ;  one  may  engage  in 
charitable  and  missionary  work  ;  one  may  be  first 
in  all  these  things,  and  at  the  same  time  be  last 
in  the  identification  of  heart  and  life  with  God's 
loving  will  toward  all  his  children,  which  is  the 
essence  of  the  better  way. 

Wherever,  underneath  our  church  attendance, 
our  Bible  reading,  our  prayers,  our  contributions, 
there  lurks  a  secret  sense  that  in  some  way  or  other 
these  are  things  which  we  must  do,  conditions  we 
must  fulfill,  if  we  are  to  be  saved,  there  the  charac- 
teristic excellence  of  the  purest,  noblest  Christian- 
ity is  marred,  defaced,  and  obscured  by  slavish  bond- 
^g®?  by  hard  legalism,  by  ignoble  fear.  Wherever 
duty  is  done,  as  in  the  case  of  Aurora  Leigh's 
dutiful  aunt. 

As  if  fearful  that  God*s  saints 

Would  look  down  suddenly  and  say,  "  Herein 

You  missed  a  point,  I  think," 

the  Christ-likeness  of  such  Christianity  is  altogether 
wanting.    The  more  excellent  way  rises  above  and 


138        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

beyond  these  "miserable  aims  tliat  end  in  self." 
Just  as  the  opportunity  to  do  a  daring  deed  calls 
out  the  strong  man's  strength,  with  no  conscious 
deliberation  whether  he  wants  exercise  or  not ;  just 
as  the  inherent  charm  of  truth  draws  to  itself  the 
scholar's  mind  by  a  force  of  such  resistless  majesty 
and  might  that  all  the  proffered  supports  of  per- 
sonal advantage  and  ambition  are  brushed  contempt- 
uously aside  as  hindrances  rather  than  helps,  —  so 
to  the  soul  destined  to  enter  the  more  excellent 
way  of  the  religious  life  there  comes  a  sense  of  the 
high  calling  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus. 

Those  grand  old  words,  "  calling  and  election," 
have  a  meaning,  —  lost  and  obscured  and  much  mis- 
understood indeed,  but  well  worth  our  effort  to  find 
out  again.  God's  call  may  come  in  many  ways. 
The  reading  of  the  Gospel  story,  to  such  as,  amid 
the  jargon  of  interpretation  that  clouds  it  in  our 
day,  can  read  it  in  its  simplicity  and  purity,  —  the 
simple  reading  of  that  story  is  enough  to  call  a 
chosen  soul  to  God.  This  Son  of  Man,  going  about 
among  his  fellow-men  to  do  them  good,  healing  the 
sick  and  warning  the  wayward,  robbing  death  of 
its  terrors  and  giving  to  the  wedding  feast  a  pre- 
ternatural joy,  doing  the  grandest  work  of  revo- 
lutionizing the  spiritual  life  of  a  nation  and  of 
the  world  with  childlike  modesty  and  meekness 
and  performing  the  meanest  services  in  the  royal 
majesty  of  love,  always  on  terms  of  friendly  human 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        139 

helpfulness  with  those  whose  character  and  lives 
most  needed  it,  and  pouring  scorn  and  contempt  on 
the  pretentious  affectations  of  religion,  making  his 
life  a  constant  ministry,  his  death  a  crowning  sac- 
rifice for  the  redemption  of  the  race,  —  has  the  read- 
ing of  that  sublime  story  ever  made  you  feel  that 
there  is  portrayed  a  life  so  noble,  an  aim  so  high, 
a  spirit  so  holy,  a  work  so  grand  and  glorious,  that 
apart  from  it  you  can  conceive  no  life,  no  aim,  no 
work  worthy  of  being  cherished?  If  the  story  of 
our  Lord's  life  and  death  has  this  supreme  attrac- 
tion for  you,  this  is  God's  call  to  you. 

The  occasion  of  God's  call  may  be  the  instituted 
worship  of  the  church,  the  words  of  a  preacher,  the 
example  of  devout  father  or  mother,  friend  or  neigh- 
bor, the  silent  meditation  of  the  soul  in  seeming 
solitude.  In  some  way  or  other,  there  comes  to  every 
soul  destined  to  walk  in  the  more  excellent  way  a 
conception  of  the  nobility,  the  glory,  the  supreme 
worthiness,  the  absolute  divineness  of  that  ministry 
to  the  highest  well-being  of  man  which  Jesus  per- 
fectly embodied  and  in  which  pure  Christianity  con- 
sists. This  conception  of  the  supreme  worthiness 
and  attractiveness  of  the  Christian  ideal,  which 
comes  in  some  form  or  other  to  each  of  God's  chosen 
ones,  —  this  is  the  call  of  God. 

The  sense  that  this  life  of  loving  cooperation 
with  God  and  Christ  in  serving  your  fellow-men, 
God's  children,  is  the  true  life,  the  real  life,  the  only 


140        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

life  in  which  you  can  find  freedom  and  joy,  the 
scope  for  action  and  the  secret  of  repose,  —  this 
conviction  wrought  within  you  is  the  evidence  that 
you  are  one  of  God's  chosen  ones.  And  to  rise  and 
obey  that  call,  actually  to  repent  of  and  renounce 
all  lower  and  less  noble  aims  and  purposes,  and  to 
devote  heart  and  life  to  the  doing  of  that  loving 
wiU  of  God,  in  Christ-like  service  of  your  fellows, 
—  this  is  the  way  to  "  make  your  calling  and  elec- 
tion sure." 

This  disposition  to  put  God  first  rather  than  sec- 
ond, this  tendency  to  find  in  God's  eternal  love  in 
Jesus  Christ  the  all-sufficient  motive  to  Christian 
conduct  and  character,  in  private  and  in  public, 
in  the  individual  and  in  the  church,  at  home  and 
abroad,  —  this  is  the  theological  foundation  on 
which  the  more  excellent  way  of  religious  thought 
and  life  must  rest. 

Our  fathers  brought  with  them  to  this  country 
the  phrases  of  this  prof  ounder  creed.  How  came  it 
about,  then,  that  we  have  so  far  drifted  away  from 
it?  The  trouble  was  that  the  children  gradually 
forgot  the  simple  and  obvious  meaning  of  these 
terms.  God's  call  came  to  mean  something  myste- 
rious, something  exclusive,  something  to  be  waited 
for.  Election  came  to  be  viewed  as  an  arbitrary 
transaction  performed  ages  ago  somewhere  in  the 
skies. 

Such  nonsense  as  that,  shrewd  Yankee  common 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        141 

sense  rightly  rejected.  And  so  we  came  to  have 
here  in  New  England  a  theology  which  starts  with 
the  powers  of  the  human  will,  and  appeals  to 
human  self-interest,  instead  of  the  theology  which 
starts  with  the  eternal,  redeeming  love  of  God  re- 
vealed in  Christ,  and  appeals  to  the  all-powerful 
attractiveness  which  this  Divine  Ideal  has  for  as 
many  as  are  able  to  appreciate  and  receive  him. 

To  recover  the  plain  meaning  of  these  deep 
truths,  and  to  restore  the  eternal  love  of  God  in 
Jesus  Christ  to  its  rightful  place  as  the  supreme 
and  sufficient  motive  to  Christian  life  and  work,  is 
the  theological  problem  of  our  day  ;  the  indispen- 
sable prerequisite  to  any  considerable  and  perma- 
nent advance  in  the  more  excellent  way  of  practical 
religious  life. 

La  conclusion,  let  us  consider  two  points  of  su- 
periority which  the  method  of  devotion  to  God's 
loving  will  for  all  his  children  has  over  the  method 
of  solicitude  about  the  saving  of  our  individual 
souls.  The  two  chief  points  of  superiority  are  gen- 
tleness and  strength. 

By  gentleness  we  mean  that  quality  which  makes 
easy  adjustment  with  others,  which  springs  from  a 
delicate  appreciation  of  others'  feelings,  which  al- 
ways takes  into  account  the  point  of  view  of  others, 
and  so  renders  the  individual's  conduct  not  the 
arbitrary  seK-assertion  of  his  own  separate  will, 
but  the  resultant  of  all  the  wills  that  are  rightfully 


142        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

concerned  in  his  conduct  and  are  affected  by  it. 
Hence  gentleness  toward  others  is  kind,  long-suf- 
fering, not  easily  provoked ;  because  the  interests 
of  others,  their  pomts  of  view,  their  trials,  their 
temptations,  are  ever  present  to  its  thought.  To- 
ward itself,  gentleness  is  not  puffed  up,  does  not 
behave  itself  unseemly,  vaunteth  not  itself ;  simply 
because  it  has  something  better  to  do  than  always 
to  be  thinking  about  itself. 

The  whole  secret  of  gentleness,  you  see,  lies  in 
this :  that  its  thought  is  not  concentrated  upon  it- 
seK,  but  is  bestowed  freely  on  others.  Hence  the 
coveting  of  the  best  gifts  and  solicitude  about  the 
present  state  and  future  prospects  of  our  individ- 
ual souls  beget  a  habit  and  temper  of  mind  which 
is  the  direct  opposite  of  the  habit  and  temper  on 
which  gentleness  depends.  A  certain  hardness, 
harshness,  severity,  and  readiness  in  condemning 
others;  a  corresponding  pride,  self-sufficiency,  in- 
sistence on  one's  own  forms  of  worship,  modes  of 
statement,  and  hopes  of  heaven  as  better  than  every- 
body's else,  is  the  logical  outcome  of  this  exag- 
geration of  the  subjective  side  of  the  religious 
life. 

On  the  other  hand,  that  method  which  appre- 
hends the  love  of  God  in  Christ  for  all  mankind, 
and  eagerly  devotes  itself  to  cooperation  with  that 
loving  will  because  it  feels  and  knows  that  this 
is  the  highest,  noblest,  truest  way  of  life,  —  this 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        143 

method  falls  in  with  that  very  manner  of  thinking 
on  which,  as  we  have  seen,  gentleness  depends.  If 
we  can  learn  to  think  of  the  people  whom  we  meet 
in  some  measure  as  the  loving  Father  thinks  of 
them,  pitying  their  infirmities  and  failings,  ready 
to  pardon  their  sins  at  the  first  dawn  of  penitence, 
entering  with  sympathetic  appreciation  into  their 
joys  and  sorrows,  their  hopes  and  fears,  and  seek- 
ing for  them  in  everything  their  highest  good,  we 
should  thereby  acquire  the  secret  of  that  gentleness 
which  rejoices  with  those  that  do  rejoice  and  weeps 
with  those  that  weep;  which  is  so  glad  in  others' 
prosperity  that  there  is  no  room  for  envy,  and  so 
sorry  for  others'  shortcomings  that  there  is  no 
place  left  for  rejoicing  in  their  iniquity ;  which  is 
so  intent  on  others'  good  that  there  is  no  time  left 
for  a  seeking  of  its  own  advantage,  and  no  energy 
left  to  splend  in  feeding  and  fattening  its  own  sepa- 
rate selfhood.  To  see  in  every  fellow-being  a  child 
of  the  heavenly  Father,  and  to  stand  ready  by  every 
appropriate  word  and  deed  to  manifest  the  Father's 
loving  regard  for  each  child  of  his,  irrespective  of 
the  wealth  or  poverty,  the  high  or  low  degree,  the 
attractiveness  or  the  uncongeniality,  the  friendli- 
ness or  enmity  in  which  this  child  of  the  Father 
comes  to  you,  —  this  is  at  once  the  secret  of  Chris- 
tian gentleness  and  the  characteristic  of  the  more 
excellent  way  of  Christian  life. 

The  other  point  of  superiority  of  the  more  excel- 


144        THE   MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

lent  way  is  strength  ;  strength  both  for  endurance 
and  for  work. 

Now,  both  methods  have  strength.  Neither  is 
altogether  weak.  Compared  with  the  mere  child  of 
nature,  the  Stoic,  the  Abstract  Idealist,  the  Puri- 
tan, the  man  who  covets  the  best  gifts,  the  man 
who,  in  one  form  or  another,  sets  up  a  standard  of 
what  his  own  individual  soul  must  attain,  —  that 
man  is  a  man  of  mighty  strength.  And  yet  there 
are  elements  of  weakness  in  this  type  of  character 
from  which  the  more  excellent  way  makes  one  free. 

What,  then,  is  strength  of  character?  Strength 
is  the  ability  to  make  one's  outward  act  the  ex- 
pression and  realization  of  one's  inward  purpose. 
Hence  a  man's  strength  depends  ultimately  on  the 
purpose  which  he  cherishes,  and  is  proportioned 
to  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth  of  that  pur- 
pose. The  man  without  a  purpose  is  utterly  weak, 
the  sport  of  circumstances,  the  football  of  society. 
The  man  of  limited  purpose  is  strong  within  the 
limits  which  his  purpose  embraces.  The  highest 
strength,  however,  goes  with  a  purpose  wide  and 
comprehensive  enough  to  embrace  the  whole  of 
life.  Coveting  the  best  gifts,  self-perfection,  the 
seeking  of  salvation,  is  a  comparatively  broad 
purpose.  It  is  much  broader  and  higher  than  the 
pursuit  of  wealth,  fame,  or  knowledge  ;  and  conse- 
quently it  makes  a  stronger  man  than  any  of  these 
motives. 


THE   MORE   EXCELLENT  WAY        145 

Yet  it  has  its  limitations.  Put  your  Stoic  or 
your  salvation-seeker,  —  for  their  attitude  is  essen- 
tially the  same,  except  where  salvation  is  thought 
of  as  future  happiness,  in  which  case  the  salvation- 
seeker  must  rank  not  with  the  Stoics,  but  with  the 
Epicureans,  —  put  this  type  of  character  in  a  place 
where  there  is  no  chance  of  making  converts  to 
his  views,  compel  him  to  associate  with  stupid  and 
uninteresting  people,  subject  him  to  the  vexations 
and  irritations  of  a  life  of  obscure  drudgery,  expose 
him  to  the  opposition  and  enmity  of  evil  men.  He 
will  not  give  up  the  fight,  but  he  will  draw  into 
himself,  and  limit  the  contest  to  the  inner  citadel 
of  his  own  mind.  Trials  he  will  use  as  occasions 
for  the  development  of  fortitude  and  the  exercise 
of  faith.  Vexations  will  be  accepted  as  a  discipline 
in  patience.  Injury  and  abuse  will  be  welcomed 
as  affording  occasion  for  growth  in  meekness  and 
resignation.  Wrong  and  evil  will  afford  opportu- 
nity for  forbearance  and  forgiveness.  And  losses 
and  privations  will  be  hailed  as  helps  to  self-denial 
and  self-conquest. 

That  there  is  a  good  deal  of  strength  of  character 
involved  in  taking  the  world  in  this  way  we  all 
admit.  And  yet  it  strikes  us,  after  all,  as  forced, 
unnatural,  and  artificial.  This  sort  of  talk  reminds 
us  always  of  the  boy  who  whistles  when  he  goes 
through  the  cemetery  at  night  to  keep  his  courage 
up.    Strength  there  is ;   but  it  is  not  sufficient  to 


146        THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

gain  a  thorough  mastery  over  life,  and  to  maintain 
an  easy  and  permanent  supremacy.  It  is  forever 
on  the  rack  of  exertion,  and  the  exhausting  efforts 
it  is  compelled  to  make  in  order  to  maintain  itself 
betray  the  presence  of  weakness  and  distrust. 

Very  different  is  the  strength  afforded  by  the 
more  excellent  way.  He  who  can  see  in  every 
sphere  God's  loving  will,  and  finds  his  joy  in  the 
doing  of  that  will,  never  can  be  placed  in  circum- 
stances of  which  he  is  not  the  perfect  master. 
Poverty  and  obscurity,  drudgery  and  toil,  no  less 
than  wealth,  fame,  leisure,  and  publicity,  afford 
abundant  opportunity  for  the  doing  of  the  Father's 
will. 

His  loving-kindness  includes  the  unthankful  and 
the  evil,  as  well  as  the  grateful  and  the  good ;  and 
toward  the  one  class  the  will  of  God  can  be  done 
by  us  just  as  effectively,  just  as  thoroughly,  just  as 
cheerfully  and  gladly,  as  toward  the  other.  People 
may  come  to  us  with  enmity  and  hate,  with  treachery 
and  malice ;  but  that  need  not  prevent  us  from 
finding  our  peace  and  joy  in  doing  God's  will  of 
love  and  kindness  toward  them. 

You  can  never  be  placed  in  circumstances  so 
unfavorable,  you  can  never  be  brought  in  contact 
with  a  person  so  mean  and  hateful,  that  this  devo- 
tion to  the  loving  will  of  God  as  applied  to  those 
circumstances  and  that  person  will  not  give  you 
strength  to  do  the  right,  true,  noble,  loving  act; 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        147 

and  so  to  overcome  evil  with  good.  This  better 
way  is  not  content  with  grimly  holding  its  own 
within  the  contracted  citadel  of  self.  It  goes  out 
on  every  occasion  to  conquer  the  world  by  righteous- 
ness and  love.  Its  strength  is  not  absorbed  in  per- 
petual self-defense.  It  is  ever  aggressive,  and  gives 
you  power  to  love  your  enemies,  to  bless  them  that 
curse  you,  and  to  pray  for  them  that  despitefully 
use  you  and  persecute  you.  God's  loving  will  for 
all  his  children,  as  it  is  revealed  to  us  in  Christ, 
taken  up  as  the  substance  and  aim  of  the  individual's 
personal  will,  is  the  secret  of  this  highest  strength, 
the  strength  that  beareth  all  things,  believeth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things  ;  that 
never  fails  of  doing  righteously,  joyfully,  lovingly, 
successfully,  whatever  it  undertakes ;  that,  in  con- 
flict with  the  worst  that  malice  and  spite  and 
wrong  and  hate  can  do,  is  able  not  only  to  abide 
invincible,  but  to  come  off  more  than  conqueror. 

Every  great  institution  has  its  own  type  of 
thought  and  life.  From  every  meeting-point  of 
human  souls  radiate  far  and  wide  influences  benign 
and  helpful  in  proportion  to  the  excellence  of  the 
life  which  animates  the  central  source. 

In  its  earlier  days,  our  country  has  been  blessed 
with  noble  institutions  devoted  to  the  education  of 
women.  They  were  on  a  lower  intellectual  level 
than  the  college ;  and  their  religious  life  moved 
more  largely  on  what  by  contrast  we  are  compelled 


148  THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY 

to  call  the  lower  or  self-conscious  plane.  Yet  their 
influence  for  good,  intellectually  and  spiritually, 
upon  our  American  life  and  in  missionary  work  in 
foreign  lands,  has  been  incalculable. 

The  colleges  for  women  have,  for  the  most  part, 
their  career  still  before  them.  Intellectually,  they 
mark  an  immense  advance  over  the  academies  and 
seminaries  which  preceded  them.  May  we  not  hope 
and  believe  that,  with  the  rise  and  growth  of  these 
colleges,  there  shall  be  given  to  our  land  a  type  of 
piety  at  once  higher  and  healthier,  more  gentle  and 
more  strong  ?  The  world  looks  to  you  for  a  religious 
life  which,  without  morbidness,  shall  be  intense  and 
earnest ;  without  sentimentality,  shall  be  winsome 
and  attractive  ;  without  weakness,  shall  be  mild  and 
gentle ;  and,  without  bigotry,  shall  be  robust  and 
strong. 

You  cannot  rise  to  the  high  level  of  these  demands 
by  the  method  of  seK-seeking  in  religious  things. 
Relying  on  that  method  alone,  there  will  be  an  un- 
healthiness,  an  unpracticalness,  an  unreality  and 
emptiness  about  your  religious  life  painfully  sug- 
gestive of  the  sounding  brass  and  the  tinkling 
cymbal,  and  mournfully  prompting  the  sad  con- 
fession, "All  this  profiteth  me  nothing,  and  I 
myself  am  nothing." 

Seek  not,  then,  merely  to  save  your  own  souls. 
Seek  first  of  all  to  know  God  in  Jesus  Christ,  and 
to  be  known  of  him.    And  then  strive  that  in  and 


THE  MORE  EXCELLENT  WAY        149 

through  your  lives  and  labors,  your  words  and 
deeds,  your  powers  and  your  opportunities,  the 
loving  will  of  God,  revealed  in  Christ,  may  have 
expression  and  fulfillment  in  the  renovating  of 
human  lives,  the  gladdening  of  human  hearts,  the 
bettering  of  society,  and  the  redemption  of  the  race. 
Thus,  walking  in  the  more  excellent  way  of  self- 
devotion  to  the  Divine  Father's  loving  will  for  his 
human  children,  you  shall  have  true  fellowship  with 
our  great  Elder  Brother,  whose  person  and  life 
and  work  are  the  full  and  perfect  incarnation  of 
this  better  way ;  and,  in  losing  the  life  of  separate 
selfhood,  you  shall  find  the  life  of  eternal  blessed- 
ness which  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God. 


VII 

The  Sacrifices  of  a  College  Man 

And  David  longed,  and  said,  Oh  that  one  would  grive  me  water 
to  drink  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  which  is  by  the  gate  I  And  the 
three  mighty  men  brake  through  the  host  of  the  Philistines,  and 
drew  water  out  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  that  was  by  the  gate, 
and  took  it,  and  brought  it  to  David:  but  he  would  not  drink 
thereof,  but  poured  it  out  unto  the  Lord.  And  he  said.  Be  it  far 
from  me,  O  Lord,  that  I  should  do  this :  shall  I  drink  the  blood 
of  the  men  that  went  in  jeopardy  of  their  lives  ?  therefore  he  would 
not  drink  of  it.  —  2  Samuel  xxiii.  15-17. 

AMID  the  rough  realities  of  Cripple  Creek  or 
Klondike  one  often  sees  gleams  of  heroism 
for  the  like  of  which,  amid  the  refined  convention- 
alities of  Fifth  Avenue  or  Beacon  Street,  one  would 
look  long  in  vain.  Civilization  and  culture,  indeed, 
have  a  heroism  of  their  own ;  but  it  is  modest  and 
retiring,  and  it  takes  a  practiced  eye  to  discern  the 
face  of  it  behind  the  veil.  In  primitive  communi- 
ties, on  the  contrary,  virtue  and  vice  alike  stand 
out  80  plain  that  he  who  runs  may  read.  This  text 
relates  a  scene  from  the  lives  of  the  outlawed  ad- 
herents of  an  outlaw  chief.  We  must  not  idealize 
these  men  because  their  deeds  have  been  enshrined 
in  Holy  Writ.  In  fact,  the  Scripture  record, 
rightly  read,  permits  no  pious  illusions  as  to  the 
sort  of  men  who  gathered  in  this  camp.  Here  is 
the  list :  Every  one  that  was  in  distress,  and  every 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    151 

one  that  was  in  debt,  and  every  one  that  was  dis- 
contented, gathered  themselves  unto  David ;  and 
he  was  captain  over  them :  the  very  classes,  you 
perceive,  who  flock  to  the  standard  of  a  Catiline  or 
a  Coxey.  Yet  out  of  the  rude  camp  of  these  rough 
men  there  flashes  forth  the  essential  splendor  of  all 
chivalry  and  all  nobility.  The  chief  longs  for  a 
drink  of  the  water  of  the  well  which  used  to  quench 
his  childhood's  thirst,  but  which  is  now  within  the 
lines  of  the  Philistine  camp.  It  is  a  mere  passing 
whim,  a  bit  of  human  sentiment.  It  is  a  wish,  not 
a  will ;  a  yearning,  not  a  command.  Yet,  to  gratify 
that  whimsical  wish,  that  sentimental  longing,  three 
mighty  men  cut  their  way  through  the  hostile  lines, 
and  at  the  risk  of  their  lives  bring  back  the  wished- 
for  water.  Then  comes  David's  great  response.  He 
will  not  drink  the  water,  but  pours  it  out  unto  the 
Lord.  "  And  he  said,  Be  it  far  from  me,  O  Lord, 
that  I  should  do  this :  shall  I  drink  the  blood  of 
the  men  that  went  in  jeopardy  of  their  lives  ?  there- 
fore he  would  not  drink  of  it."  To  give  one's  life 
is  a  noble  thing.  To  recognize  the  sacredness  of 
the  gift,  and  to  receive  it  worthily,  is  a  higher, 
rarer  form  of  nobleness.  It  is  by  this  high  stand- 
ard that  I  invite  you  to  measure  yourselves.  The 
sacredness  of  the  things  that  are  bought  with  hu- 
man life,  and  the  way  a  true  man  treats  them,  — 
that  is  my  theme. 

You  all  admire  David  for  refusing  to  drink  the 


152    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

life-blood  of  his  friends.  You  would  despise  him 
had  he  drank  it.  You  all  feel  sure  that  you  would 
have  done  as  he  did,  in  the  same  circumstances. 
Well,  admiration  at  long  range  is  good.  But  I  must 
press  home  the  harder  question.  What  are  you  do- 
ing in  actual  conditions  which  involve  the  same 
essential  principle?  This  simple  story  from  the 
crude  conditions  of  primitive  warfare  is  to  serve  as 
a  clue  to  the  intricate  labyrinth  of  modern  social 
life.  For  these  modern  social  conditions  are  ever 
offering  to  us  the  life-blood  of  our  feUows  ;  and  the 
souls  are  rare  that  have  the  heroism  to  put  the 
costly  cup  away,  still  rarer  the  souls  who  combine 
with  this  heroism  the  wisdom  to  make  of  this  pre- 
cious cup  an  acceptable  offering  to  the  Lord.  Let 
us,  then,  apply  this  principle  to  four  aspects  of  our 
life, — wealth,  pleasure,  politics,  faith. 

First,  Wealth.  Do  you  realize  how  much  of  hu- 
man life  there  is  stored  up  in  what  we  eat  and  wear 
and  spend  and  use  ?  Food  and  raiment,  fire  and 
light,  shelter  and  rest,  are  bought  for  us  by  the 
exposure  of  the  lone  shepherd  on  the  mountain-side, 
the  weary  weaver  at  her  loom,  the  weather-beaten 
sailor  before  the  mast,  the  engineer  driving  his 
train  against  the  storm,  the  miner  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  the  woodsman  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
uhe  fisherman  off  the  foggy  banks,  the  plowman  in 
the  monotonous  furrow,  the  cook  drudging  in  the 
kitchen,  the  washerwoman  bending  over  the  tub, 


THE   SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    153 

and  the  countless  host  of  artisans  and  teamsters  and 
common  laborers  who  form  the  broad,  firm  base  on 
which  our  civilization  rests. 

Because  of  this  high  human  cost  of  material 
goods,  all  waste  is  wickedness,  all  ostentation  is  dis- 
grace, all  luxury  that  is  not  redeemed  by  uses  to 
be  explained  later  is  criminal.  The  food  or  raiment 
that  you  waste  is  simply  so  much  human  toil  and 
sacrifice  which  you  by  your  wastefulness  render 
null  and  void.  The  wealth  and  state  you  ostenta- 
tiously display  simply  show  the  world  how  much  of 
the  vitality  of  other  men  and, women  you  burn  up 
in  order  to  keep  your  poor  self  going.  To  boast  of 
riches,  to  take  pride  in  luxury,  is  as  though  an  en- 
gine should  boast  of  the  quantity  of  coal  it  could 
eonsiune,  regardless  of  work  accomplished;  as 
though  a  farm  should  be  proud  of  the  fertilizer 
spread  upon  it,  regardless  of  the  crop  raised  in  re- 
turn. What  is  the  real  nature  of  the  idle  rich? 
Precisely  what  do  they  amount  to  in  the  world  ? 
To  eat  the  bread  that  other  men  have  toiled  to 
plant  and  reap  and  transport  and  cook  and  serve ; 
to  wear  the  silk  and  woolen  that  other  women  have 
spun  and  woven  and  cut  and  sewed ;  to  lie  in  a 
couch  that  other  hands  have  spread,  and  under  a 
roof  that  other  arms  have  reared ;  not  that  alone 
—  for  we  all  do  as  much  —  but  to  consume  these 
things  upon  themselves  with  no  sense  of  gratitude 
and  fellowship  toward  the  toiling  men  and  women 


154    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

who  bring  these  gifts ;  with  no  strenuous  effort  to 
give  back  to  them  something  as  valuable  and  pre- 
cious as  that  which  they  have  given  to  us ;  that  is 
the  meanness  and  selfishness  and  sin  and  shame  of 
wealth  that  is  idle  and  irresponsible.  Against  riches 
as  such  no  sane  man  has  a  word  to  say.  Against 
rich  men  who  are  idle  and  irresponsible,  against 
rich  women  who  are  ungrateful  and  unserviceable, 
the  moral  insight  cries  out  in  righteous  indignation, 
and  brands  them  as  parasites,  receiving  all  and  giv- 
ing nothing  in  return  ;  in  the  language  of  our  text, 
gulping  down  the  life-blood  of  their  fellows,  with- 
out so  much  as  a  "  thank  you  "  in  return. 

That  brings  us  to  the  old  question,  Can  a  rich 
man  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  Assuredly,  yes. 
All  things  are  possible  with  God,  and  to  right- 
minded  men.  It  is,  indeed,  harder  for  a  rich  man 
than  for  a  poor  man,  for  obvious  reasons.  Being  a 
Christian,  or  entering  the  kingdom  of  God,  simply 
means  that,  instead  of  setting  up  yourself  and  your 
possessions  as  ends  in  themselves,  you  shall  make 
yourself,  and  all  you  have,  organic,  functional,  in- 
strumental, serviceable  to  the  great  and  glorious 
purposes  of  God,  for  the  welfare  and  blessedness  of 
men.  And  the  more  you  are  and  the  more  you  have, 
the  harder  it  is  to  bring  yourself  and  your  posses- 
sions into  this  organic  and  functional  subordina- 
tion to  the  will  that  makes  for  human  happiness 
and  social  virtue.    But  just  because  it  is  so  hard, 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    155 

therefore  it  is  all  the  more  glorious.  The  rich 
Christian  is  God's  finest  masterpiece  in  the  world 
to-day. 

The  man  whose  office  is  a  pivot  around  which 
revolve  in  integrity  and  beneficence  the  wheels  of 
industry  and  commerce,  affording  employment  and 
subsistence  to  thousands  of  his  feUows  ;  the  woman 
whose  home  is  a  centre  of  generous  hospitality, 
whence  ceaseless  streams  of  refinement  and  charity 
flow  forth  to  bless  the  world ;  the  person  whose 
leisure  and  culture  and  wealth  and  influence  are 
devoted  to  the  direction  of  forces,  the  solution  of 
problems,  the  organization  of  movements  which  re- 
quire large  expenditure  of  time  and  money  —  these 
men  and  women  who  are  at  the  same  time  rich  and 
Christian,  these  are  the  salt  of  our  modern  society ; 
by  such  comes  the  redemption  of  the  world ;  of  such, 
no  less  than  of  the  Christian  poor,  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  No  honest  man  grudges  these  Christian 
rich  their  wealth.  It  matters  not  whether  their  in- 
come is  five  hundred  or  fifty  thousand  a  year.  The 
question  is  whether  the  little  or  the  much  is  made 
organic  to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  human- 
ity. And  the  greater  the  amount  of  wealth  thus 
organized  and  utilized,  the  greater  the  glory  and  the 
larger  the  good.  That  is  what  it  means  in  terms  of 
wealth  for  the  modem  man  to  refuse  to  drink  the 
precious  water  from  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  and  to 
pour  it  out  unto  the  Lord. 


156    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

Second,  Pleasure.  Pleasure  is  Nature's  premium 
on  healthy  exercise  of  function.  The  more  of  it  the 
better.  There  is  no  asceticism  about  the  Gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ,  though  his  followers  have  often  tried 
to  tack  it  on.  We  all  like  pleasure,  and  are  not 
ashamed  to  own  it.  Not  suppression  but  fruition 
is  the  ideal  of  our  nature.  The  modern  world 
agrees  with  Beecher  when  he  says,  "My  concep- 
tion of  religion  is  to  let  every  faculty  effulge,  touched 
with  celestial  fire."  The  Son  of  Man  came  eating 
and  drinking  and  rejoicing,  and  shedding  joy  and 
gladness  wherever  he  went.  And  the  man  who 
catches  his  spirit  will  find  his  own  life  more  and 
more  full  of  happiness.  And  I  mean  by  that  real, 
live,  human  happiness,  not  the  pale,  sickly  counter- 
feit that  lights  up  the  countenances  of  emaciated 
hermits  and  psalm-singing  pietists.  Whatever  min- 
isters to  the  exaltation  of  body  or  of  mind,  what- 
ever stirs  the  blood  and  quickens  the  pulses  and 
thriUs  the  nerves,  is  so  far  forth  a  good  to  be  de- 
sired. There  is  not  a  bad  appetite  or  passion  in  our 
nature,  unless  perversion  makes  it  so.  Our  bodies 
are  good  ;  and  every  physiological  function  is  good, 
and  the  pleasure  that  comes  of  it  a  thing  to  be 
rejoiced  in  as  the  seal  of  vigor  and  vitality.  Our 
minds  are  good ;  and  all  the  joys  of  mental  exercise 
are  glorious  witnesses  to  the  divine  image  in  which 
we  are  made.  Our  hearts'  loves  are  good,  and  ten- 
der ties  that  bind  us  together  in  families  and  friend- 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    157 

ships  and  mutual  affections  are  the  best  gifts  of  God 
to  men. 

There  is,  however,  one  condition  of  all  noble  plea- 
sure. You  must  not  buy  it  with  the  life-blood  of 
your  fellows ;  you  shall  not  purchase  it  at  the  cost 
of  human  degradation.  The  attempt  to  regulate 
pleasure  and  amusement  by  rule  is  mischievous  and 
futile.  The  attitude  of  many  good  people  toward 
cards  and  billiards,  the  theatre  and  the  dance,  is  a 
concession  to  the  devil  of  things  that  are  altogether 
too  good  for  him  to  monopolize.  All  these  and 
kindred  things  are  good,  provided  you  do  not  pay 
too  high  a  price  for  them.  When  billiards  or  cards 
are  used  to  undermine  the  foundations  of  honest 
industry  in  a  feUow-man ;  when  they  are  used  to 
make  one  man's  gain  conditioned  on  another's  loss ; 
when  they  divert  the  wages  of  the  breadwinner 
from  the  support  of  his  family  to  the  till  of  the 
gambler  or  the  saloon-keeper,  then  these  things, 
innocent  and  beneficent  in  themselves,  become 
heavy  with  the  weight  of  human  misery,  black  with 
the  odium  of  human  degradation. 

The  beauty  of  the  human  form  and  the  charm 
of  graceful  movement,  when  wedded  to  expressive 
speech  or  entrancing  song,  are  sources  of  the  noblest 
and  keenest  of  our  delights.  Against  opera  or  drama 
no  lover  of  his  fellows  has  a  word  to  say. 

When,  however,  for  the  spectacular  embellish- 
ment of  the  performance,  woman  is  asked  to  put 


158    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

off  that  modesty  which  is  her  robe  and  crown,  when 
the  accessories  of  the  exhibition  are  such  that  you 
would  be  unwilling  to  have  one  dear  to  you  take 
part  in  it,  then  you  are  buying  your  pleasure  with 
the  red  blood  of  a  human  heart  and  the  stained 
whiteness  of  a  sister's  soul,  —  a  price  no  true  man 
win  let  another  pay  to  procure  for  him  a  passing 
pleasure. 

The  real  reason  why  a  true-hearted,  noble  man 
cannot  walk  in  the  ways  of  licentiousness  is  not 
the  selfish  fear  of  physical  contamination  or  social 
reprobation.  It  is  because  he  cannot  take  pleasure 
in  the  banishment  of  a  daughter  from  the  household 
of  her  father ;  in  the  infamy  of  one  who  might  have 
been  a  pure  sister  in  a  happy  home  ;  in  the  degrad- 
ation of  one  who  ought  to  be  a  wife,  proud  of  the 
love  of  a  good  man  and  happy  in  the  sweet  joys  of 
motherhood.  On  this  point  our  social  standards  are 
still  barbarous  and  our  moral  insight  undeveloped. 
The  man  who  has  eyes  to  see  these  things  as  they 
are,  the  man  who  can  realize  the  cost  of  shame  and 
degradation  to  others  which  they  involve,  the  man 
who  can  see  this  and  still  seek  pleasure  there,  is  a 
man  whose  moral  affinities  are  with  the  bygone 
brutality  of  the  Eoman  populace  that  found  delight 
in  seeing  gladiators  die,  with  the  slave-drivers  who 
forced  human  beings  to  labor  with  the  lash.  I  care 
not  how  high  such  a  man  may  stand  in  social  cir- 
cles.   He  is  a  man  with  a  cold,  hard,  cruel,  callous 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    159 

heart ;  a  creature  capable  of  finding  a  beastly  satis- 
faction in  drinking  human  blood.  He  has  no  part 
nor  lot  in  the  true  nobility  which  flashed  forth  in 
the  splendid  deed  of  David,  and  finds  its  highest 
consummation  in  the  pure,  strong,  loving  heart  of 
Christ. 

Can  pleasure,  then,  lil?:e  riches,  be  redeemed  and 
made  an  acceptable  offering  to  the  Lord  ?  Is  there 
a  heaven  for  the  pleasure-seeker  and  the  pleasure- 
giver,  as  well  as  for  the  rich  ?  Most  certainly.  Nor- 
mal pleasure  is  the  counterpart  of  healthy  function, 
and  blesses  the  giver  no  less  than  the  recipient. 
The  practice  of  any  worthy  art  is  ennobling,  and 
gives  more  pleasure  to  the  artist  than  to  the  looker- 
on.  The  actor,  the  singer,  the  painter,  the  poet,  is 
not  degraded,  but  uplifted,  by  the  joy  he  gives. 
When  you  sail  the  seas  or  explore  the  wilderness, 
you  make  the  skipper  or  the  guide  the  sharer  of 
your  joys.  And  so  with  all  the  pure  domestic  and 
social  pleasures  that  enrich  the  life  of  man.  The 
test  is  so  simple  and  clear  that  a  fool  can't  miss 
it,  though  a  knave  may.  Is  the  act  that  gives  you 
pleasure  at  the  same  time,  aU  things  considered  and 
in  the  long  run,  counting  all  the  costs  and  conse- 
quences, a  source  of  permanent  pleasure  and  well- 
being  to  the  other  persons  who  are  affected  by  it  ? 
The  pleasure  that  fulfills  this  test  is  an  acceptable 
offering  to  the  Lord.  All  other  pleasure  is  an  abomi- 
nation in  his  eyes.  Searching  and  severe  as  this  test 


160    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

is,  there  is  n't  a  particle  of  asceticism  about  it.  It 
simply  asks  you  to  do  to  others  as  you  would  that 
they  should  do  to  you,  or  to  those  whom  you  love 
best.  That  is  what  it  means  for  us  to  make  our 
theatres  and  places  of  amusement,  our  recreations 
and  our  pleasures,  an  ojffering  to  the  Lord. 

Third,  Politics.  Of  aU  the  freely  flowing  waters  of 
our  modern  civilization,  there  is  no  portion  which  has 
literally  been  brought  to  us  at  such  risk  of  life  and 
cost  of  blood  as  our  political  liberties  and  civic  in- 
stitutions, From  Marathon  and  Salamis,  from  the 
Netherlands  under  William  the  Silent,  from  the 
British  sailors  who  fired  the  Spanish  Armada,  from 
Cromwell's  Ironsides  at  Marston  Moor,  from  the 
plains  of  Abraham,  from  Bunker  Hill  and  Benning- 
ton, from  Quebec  and  Saratoga,  from  Trenton  and 
Yorktown,  from  Shiloh  and  Antietam,  from  Gettys- 
burg and  the  Wilderness,  from  aU  the  brave  souls 
who  have  risked  their  lives  for  liberty  and  law,  for 
justice  and  humanity,  we  receive  to-day  the  blessings 
they  bought  us  with  their  blood. 

To  drink  of  these  waters  unworthily  means  that 
we  receive  our  liberties  and  institutions  as  a  mere 
matter  of  course,  with  no  sense  of  gratitude  to  God 
and  the  brave  men  who  gave  them  to  us.  It  means 
that  we  use  the  greatness  of  our  country  as  a  means 
to  our  petty,  private  ends.  It  means  that  we  seek 
for  ourselves  or  help  secure  for  others  offices  and 
emoluments  for  which  we  or  they  are  unfit.    It 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    161 

means  that  by  our  indifference  or  preoccupation 
with  our  private  affairs  we  permit  others  to  do 
what  we  would  be  ashamed  to  do  ourselves.  It 
means  that  we  find  it,  on  the  whole,  cheaper  and 
more  economical  to  endure  a  worse  government 
and  pay  a  heavier  tax  rather  than  bestir  ourselves 
to  do  our  part  toward  securing  efficient  adminis- 
tration and  honest  government.  It  means  that  we 
acquiesce  in  corruption  in  elections  and  favoritism 
in  appointments,  and  legislation  by  private  purchase 
and  irresponsible  influence. 

Now,  we  all  tolerate  a  great  deal  of  this  wrong- 
doing ;  we  all  drink  these  dearly  bought  waters  un- 
worthily, because  in  times  of  peace  and  plenty  the 
evil  consequences  of  our  misdoing  are  obscured. 
The  taxes  levied  by  public  authority  are  heavier  ; 
the  assessments  imposed  by  party  bosses  are  higher ; 
the  streets  are  filthier ;  life  and  property  are  less 
secure  ;  the  owners  of  franchises  pay  bigger  divi- 
dends and  the  laborer  pays  more  for  his  water  and 
light  and  transportation ;  disease  is  more  conta- 
gious, and  the  death-rate  higher.  But  these  evils 
are  distributed  over  such  wide  areas  and  such  long 
periods,  and  fall  on  such  vast  multitudes  of  peo- 
ple, that  the  individual  scarcely  feels  or  notices 
his  added  share.  Even  a  War  Department  in  time 
of  peace  and  plenty  may  be  administered  on  prin- 
ciples of  personal  patronage  and  private  profit  and 
political  pull,  and  no  great  harm  is  manifest.  It  is, 


162    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

however,  one  of  the  few  advantages  of  war  that  it 
puts  men  and  principles  to  the  test,  and  with  ita 
keen-edged  sword  cuts  out  their  unrighteousness 
and  rottenness  so  cleanly  that  all  men  may  see  and 
understand.  Then  we  see  what  privilege  and  pull 
and  spoils  and  iacompetence  and  inefficiency  mean, 
not  in  vague,  general  terms,  but  in  terms  of  starva- 
tion and  inefficiency  and  disease  and  death.  It  is 
a  wholesome  thing  that,  now  that  our  brief  war 
with  Spain  is  over,  we  have  not  a  particle  of  ani- 
mosity or  resentment  against  the  poor  Spaniards 
who  stood  up  at  their  posts  and  fired  their  bullets 
bravely  at  our  breasts ;  but  that  the  men  whom  we 
find  it  the  hardest  to  forgive  are  those  who  failed  to 
send  up  to  our  own  brave  soldiers  at  the  front,  or 
even  in  their  camps,  the  reasonable  requirements  of 
health  and  healing,  of  vigor  and  efficiency.  The 
men  the  nation  blames  most  bitterly  to-day  are 
those  who,  in  places  of  responsibility,  where  the  lives 
and  hopes  of  thousands  of  men  and  families,  as  well 
as  the  nation's  fortune  and  honor,  were  intrusted  to 
them,  had  the  audacity  to  hold  these  tremendous 
responsibilities  in  their  hands,  and  then  —  to  use 
the  mildest  term  the  whole  vocabulary  of  whitewash 
affords  —  failed  to  grasp  the  situation  in  which  the 
lives  of  these  men  and  the  fortunes  of  the  nation 
by  their  authority  were  placed. 

If  any  great,  lasting  good  shall  come  out  of  this 
late  war,  it  will  not  be  the  speedy  humiliation  of 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    163 

Spain  which  every  one  foresaw,  not  the  sudden  ac- 
quisition of  remote  possessions  which  no  one  had 
anticipated ;  it  wiU  be  the  recognition  of  the  truth 
that  the  man  who  puts  himseK,  or  helps  to  put 
others,  into  positions  of  public  responsibility  for 
which  he  or  they  are  unfit,  is  guilty  of  the  only  form 
of  treason  a  great  republic  has  to  fear. 

What,  then,  is  it  to  drink  worthily  the  water  of 
our  dearly  bought  liberties  and  institutions  ?  It  is 
simply  to  fit  ourselves,  and  to  hold  ourselves  in 
perpetual  readiness,  for  the  highest  service  to  our 
country  which  we  are  capable  of  rendering ;  and  to 
see  to  it  that  unfit  men  are  not  allowed  to  crowd 
out  their  betters  from  the  responsibilities  of  public 
service.  Let  each  man,  to  the  fuU  extent  of  his 
ability  and  influence,  do  these  two  things,  and  he 
will  do  his  part  to  solve  the  still  unsolved  problem 
of  republics  ;  he  will  drink  worthily,  in  this  impor- 
tant sphere  of  politics,  the  precious  water  of  the 
well  of  Bethlehem. 

Fourth,  Faith.  The  spiritual  faith  which  comes 
to  us  to-day  free  as  the  water  of  the  well  was  once 
red  with  martyr's  blood.  Through  the  great  com- 
pany of  missionaries,  martyrs,  confessors,  apostles, 
who  were  persecuted  and  put  to  death  for  their 
fidelity,  we  trace  this  faith  back  to  the  Christ  who 
was  crucified  because  he  brought  it  to  a  mercenary, 
hypocritical,  and  hostile  world.  Jesus  found  the 
world  believing  in  a  pompous  potentate  who  would 


164    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

exact  the  last  farthing  of  debt  from  his  abject  and 
superstitious  subjects.  He  gave  the  belief  in  a  lov- 
ing Father  who  seeks  the  good  of  all  his  children. 
Jesus  found  men  believing  in  the  God  of  the  Phar- 
isee,—  the  God  of  people  who  think  themselves 
better  than  their  neighbors.  He  gave  us  the  faith 
in  the  God  of  the  lowly  and  the  penitent.  The 
world  was  seeking  salvation  by  hardness  and  force. 
He  brought  it  salvation  through  gentleness  and 
mercy.  The  world  believed  in  a  taskmaster  and  a 
lawgiver.  Jesus  showed  himself  our  Saviour  and 
our  friend.  Jesus  found  cruelty,  and  left  kindness ; 
Jesus  found  lust,  and  left  purity ;  Jesus  found  pride, 
and  left  meekness ;  Jesus  found  oppression,  and 
left  liberty.  The  hard,  cruel,  coarse,  brutal,  selfish, 
sensual  world  to  which  he  came  was  loath  to  give  up 
its  hardness  and  greed,  its  sensuality  and  its  hypoc- 
risy. Jesus  nevertheless  carried  his  gospel  of  love 
and  kindness  and  purity  and  truth  right  into  the 
very  camp  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  the  hypo- 
crites and  pretenders,  the  extortioners  and  tyrants. 
In  rescuing  the  water  of  a  sweeter,  purer,  lovelier 
life  from  the  camp  of  the  Pharisees  and  priests, 
Jesus  not  only  risked,  he  actually  laid  down,  his 
life.  They  indeed  killed  him,  but  he  broke  in  pieces 
the  cruel  creed,  the  mercenary  rites,  the  pretentious 
hypocrisy  with  which  they  had  fenced  in  the  well 
of  spiritual  life,  and  made  free  for  aU  men  evermore 
the  divine  forgiveness  of  the  penitent,  the  divine 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    165 

strength  for  the  weak,  the  divine  sympathy  for  the 
poor,  the  divine  comfort  for  the  troubled,  the  divine 
kingdom  for  the  humble,  the  divine  blessedness  for 
the  pure  in  heart.  Theories  of  atonement  may 
come  and  go ;  the  great  historic  fact  remains  that 
Jesus  found  a  world  of  lust  and  cruelty  and  hypoc- 
risy and  hate ;  that  he  attacked  those  powers  of 
evil  with  all  his  might ;  that,  in  consequence,  the 
evil  forces  of  the  world,  the  hypocrites  and  tyrants 
and  extortioners,  envied  and  hated  and  scourged 
and  crucified  him.  Hence  it  is  not  a  mere  theo- 
logical theory,  it  is  a  plain  historic  fact,  that  he 
bore  the  sin  of  the  world  in  his  own  body,  and 
bought  the  world's  emancipation  from  it  with  his 
blood. 

Hence  for  us  to  live  the  life  of  pride  and  sen- 
suality and  selfishness  and  sin  is  not  only  to  be 
guilty  of  doing  these  wrong  things.  For  us  to  live 
the  life  of  sin  when  he  has  won  for  the  world  the 
life  of  love  and  service,  for  us  to  sink  into  the  sen- 
suality of  brutes  when  he  has  shown  us  our  fellow- 
ship with  God ;  for  us  to  do  these  things  to-day,  is 
to  throw  away,  so  far  as  it  is  in  our  power,  the 
costly  benefits  which  he  has  purchased  for  us  ;  it  is 
to  drink  unworthily  the  water  of  the  well  of  Beth- 
lehem ;  it  is  to  make  the  sacrifice  of  Christ  for  us 
and  for  the  world,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  of 
none  effect.  It  is  to  let  him  live  and  die  for  us,  and 
then  to  go  on  in  our  sloth  and  selfishness  as  if  no- 


166    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

thing  had  happened,  and  no  solemn  and  sacred 
obligation  rested  upon  us  to  receive  it  worthily. 

Ajid  to  make  this  water  of  life  which  Jesus  pur- 
chased with  his  blood  an  acceptable  offering  to  the 
Lord, — that  means  for  you  and  me  that  we  shall 
let  the  precious  life  of  purity  and  kindness  and  gen- 
tleness and  courage  and  love,  which  he  brought 
to  the  world,  come  into  our  hearts,  transform  our 
lives,  and  go  forth  from  us  to  help  and  bless  man- 
kind. 

The  noble  life,  or,  what  comes  to  the  same  thing, 
the  Christian  life,  you  see,  is  a  very  simple  thing. 
It  consists  in  rising  above  the  petty  selfishness  and 
meanness  of  our  individual,  animal  nature,  and  mak- 
ing our  possessions,  our  pleasures,  our  politics,  our 
faith  functional  in  the  greater  organism  of  society 
for  the  accomplishment  of  that  will  of  God  which 
seeks  the  good  of  man.  This  noble  life  is  open  to 
us  all ;  and  yet  no  man  may  carry  into  it  a  single 
penny  of  his  wealth,  a  single  indulgence  of  his  ap- 
petites, a  single  department  of  his  work,  a  single 
article  of  his  creed,  which  has  not  first  been  offered 
up  in  service  to  the  higher  will  of  God  and  the  larger 
good  of  man.  Failure  will  be  forgiven,  mistakes 
overlooked,  sins  pardoned,  repentance  accepted,  until 
seventy  times  seven,  if  only  the  noble  purpose  is 
really  in  the  heart.  The  purpose,  however,  must  be 
there.  And  that,  too,  not  in  a  vague,  general,  sen- 
timental way.    It  must  be  there  as  a  definite  and 


THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN    167 

earnest  purpose  to  bring  just  such  concrete  things 
as  money  and  pleasure  and  study  and  politics  and 
society  and  business  into  functional  subjection  to 
this  wiU  of  God  which  serves  the  good  of  man.  With- 
out such  a  ruling  purpose  controlling  the  concrete 
conduct  of  daily  life,  no  man  can  live  the  noble  life, 
no  man  can  cross  the  threshold  of  the  kingdom  of 
God,  no  man  can  enter  into  the  glorious  fellowship 
of  brave  and  chivalrous  men,  no  man  can  be  a  fol- 
lower of  the  great  and  glorious  Christ. 

These  conditions  are  indeed  hard  ;  harder  for  the 
rich  than  for  the  poor,  harder  for  the  strong  young 
man  full  of  vigorous  physical  life  than  for  the  feeble 
and  the  weak,  harder  for  the  man  of  position  and 
influence  in  a  busy  city  than  for  the  hermit.  But 
the  greater  the  difficulty  the  greater  the  glory.  And 
I  know  not  by  what  authority  I  should  offer  you 
the  noble  life  on  cheap  and  easy  terms.  To  be  a 
Christian  is  not  easy ;  character  is  not  to  be  bought 
at  a  bargain ;  and  you  who  know  the  severe  terms 
on  which  excellence  in  business  or  professional  life 
must  be  purchased  will  not  expect  to  gain  Christian 
character  without  strenuous  effort  and  serious  sac- 
rifice. I  tell  you  frankly  that  to  make  your  money, 
your  pleasure,  your  politics,  and  all  the  other  rela- 
tions of  your  daily  lives  functional  in  the  great  pur- 
pose of  God  for  the  blessing  of  mankind  is  a  very 
much  harder  and  severer  thing  than  luxury  and  in- 
dulgence and  indolence.   And  it  is  just  because  it 


168    THE  SACRIFICES  OF  A  COLLEGE  MAN 

does  call  for  this  heroism  and  self-sacrifice  that  I 
commend  it  to  you  with  confidence. 

Let  us,  then,  make  David's  noble  deed  the  touch- 
stone of  the  worth  of  our  wealth,  the  purity  of  our 
pleasures,  the  righteousness  of  our  public  service, 
and  the  vitality  of  our  faith.  Let  us  betake  our- 
selves anew  to  the  Christ  in  whom  this  nobleness, 
which  flashed  forth  for  a  brief  moment  in  the  rude 
life  of  David,  found  constant  and  unwavering  ex- 
pression. Let  us  use  the  spiritual  aids  without 
which  no  man  can  lift  his  life  to  this  high  plane, 
still  less  maintain  it  there.  Let  us  conquer  one 
by  one  the  details  of  daily  living,  and  win  them 
over  from  servitude  to  our  selfish  and  sensual  de- 
sires, into  the  glorious  liberty  of  that  kingdom  of 
God  which  is  the  commonwealth  of  man. 


vm 

The  Creed  of  a  College  Class 

IT  is  the  custom  in  the  course  in  government  at 
Bowdoin  College  to  require  each  student  to 
write  out  his  individual  political  platform ;  so  that 
in  case  of  future  Fullers,  Fryes,  and  Reeds  we  can 
trace  the  development  of  their  opinions  from  their 
college  views.  One's  religious  creed  bears  much 
the  same  relation  to  the  study  of  philosophy  that 
one's  political  platform  does  to  the  theoretical  study 
of  government.  Accordingly,  I  asked  a  class  of 
sixty  students,  mostly  seniors,  to  write  out  their 
individual  creeds.  In  these  individual  creeds  I 
asked  each  man  to  state  as  exactly  as  possible  both 
his  belief  and  his  unbelief ;  and  to  define,  as  far 
as  possible,  the  sense  in  which  he  held  the  things 
in  which  he  believed  and  the  sense  in  which  he 
rejected  the  things  he  did  not  believe.  I  then  re- 
duced these  sixty  creeds  to  a  single  composite  creed. 
Into  this  composite  creed  I  put  everything  which 
any  student  had  affirmed,  except  what  some  of 
them  had  denied,  —  aiming  in  this  way  to  get  a 
class  creed  to  which  each  individual  member  would 
assent.  I  distributed  copies  of  this  composite  creed 
to  each  member  of  the  class,  and  invited  criti- 
cism and  amendment.    We  then  spent  two  hours 


170  THE  CREED  OF  A  COLLEGE  CLASS 

together  in  discussing  the  articles  of  the  creed  one 
by  one,  making  such  modifications  and  concessions 
at  each  point  as  were  necessary  to  secure  their 
unanimous  acceptance  by  the  class.  At  the  end 
of  the  second  hour  the  creed  was  adopted  by  a 
unanimous  vote. 

Of  course  a  creed  composed  in  this  way  is  by 
no  means  an  ideal  or  model  creed.  Many  of  the 
individual  creeds  were  far  more  positive  and  com- 
prehensive than  this  composite  creed.  As  showing, 
however,  the  things  on  which  a  typical  college  class 
can  agree,  this  creed  may  be  of  interest.  While 
many  things  are  of  necessity  left  out  which  we 
would  like  to  see  included,  yet  the  fact  that  a 
typical  college  class  can  agree  on  as  much  as  is 
included  here  is  a  sufficient  assurance  that  the 
great  institutions  of  Family,  State,  and  Church 
will  be  safe  in  their  hands ;  and  that  their  funda- 
mental attitude  toward  God,  duty,  and  life,  if  not 
quite  the  traditional  one,  is  yet  positive,  whole- 
some, and  reverent.  I  present  three  creeds :  one 
of  the  more  conservative  type,  one  of  the  more 
radical  type,  and  one  the  composite  creed  agreed 
upon  by  all  the  class. 

A  CONSERVATIVE  COLLEGE  CEEED 

I  believe  in 

1.  God  as  the  central  power  of  the  universe, 
present  alike  in  the  works  of  man  and  nature. 


THE  CREED  OF  A  COLLEGE  CLASS    171 

2.  Christ  as  the  truest  expression  of  the  char- 
acter of  God  and  the  supreme  example  for  man  to 
pattern  after. 

3.  In  the  Holy  Ghost  as  that  which  urges  man 
to  better  and  higher  things,  and  especially  that 
which  creates  in  the  breast  of  man  the  love  and 
trust  in  the  Infinite  and  the  satisfaction  and  peace 
at  the  knowledge  of  doing  his  wiU. 

4.  Prayer  as  the  effective  means  of  obtaining 
what  is  for  our  permanent  good  when  coupled  with 
the  efforts  and  faith  of  the  asker.  Also  as  the 
surest  way  to  keep  before  man's  consciousness  the 
example  of  Christ's  life. 

5.  I  believe  in  the  eternal  life  as  the  survival 
after  death  of  the  mind  of  man. 

6.  In  heaven  as  the  knowledge  that  we  have 
lived  to  the  best  of  our  ability  after  the  teachings 
of  Christ. 

7.  In  heU  as  the  realization  of  falling  below  our 
ideals  through  our  own  faults. 

8.  In  salvation  as  the  conscious  choosing  by  man 
of  the  life  of  Christ  as  his  ideal  and  pattern. 

9.  In  the  whole  Bible  as  the  inspired  word  of 
God  to  man.  In  that  all  that  which  is  high  and 
noble  comes  from  God.  Also  that  the  Bible  is, 
as  a  whole,  the  truest  expression  of  God's  will  to 
man. 

If  perhaps  some  things  appear  to  be  beyond  the 
understanding  of  man,  and  apparently  contrary  to 


172    THE  CREED  OF  A  COLLEGE  CLASS 

science,  I  remember  that  science  is  the  product  of 
man's  observation,  and  that  there  may  have  been 
extra-scientific  things  beyond  the  comprehension  of 
man.  Again,  there  is  so  much  symbolism  through- 
out the  Bible  that  it  is  hard  to  separate  it  from 
what  was  intended  as  fact.  Therefore  it  is  possible 
for  me  to  see  truth  in  the  whole  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, either  actual  or  symbolical. 

A  RADICAL  COLLEGE  CREED 

What  I  do  not  believe, 

I  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  original  sin, 
nor  in  the  various  Biblical  miracles,  nor  in  the 
divine  conception  of  Jesus,  nor  in  the  doctrine  of 
atonement,  nor  in  the  Trinity,  nor  do  I  deem  it 
necessary  to  believe  these  in  order  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian. 

What  I  do  believe, 

I  believe  in  the  existence  of  God,  a  divine  Cre- 
ator and  Ruler,  who  is  only  personal  to  the  extent 
that  he  has  purposes  and  effects  results. 

I  believe  in  the  fundamental,  immutable  prin- 
ciple. Truth,  akin  to  God,  if  not  synonymous  with 
God;  that  this  Truth  is  the  only  imperishable 
thing  in  the  universe,  and  that  all  other  things  are 
ephemeral. 

I  believe  that  as  certain  human  beings  have  to 
a  finite  extent  apprehended  a  bit  of  the  Truth  and 


THE  CREED  OF  A  COLLEGE  CLASS    173 

promulgated  it,  they  have  become  known  as  great 
teachers,  and  won  followers  through  the  mherent 
yet  passive  force  of  the  Truth. 

I  believe  Jesus  Christ  to  have  been  the  greatest 
of  these  teachers,  inasmuch  as  he  apprehended  the 
Truth  to  a  greater  degree  than  all  others. 

I  believe  his  doctrines  to  have  spread,  not 
through  the  agency  of  any  active  spiritual  essence 
known  as  the  Holy  Ghost,  but  because  of  their 
own  inherent  immortality  and  the  transitoriness  of 
all  opposition. 

I  believe  Jesus  Christ  to  have  been  divine  only 
as  he  expounded  the  Truth,  even  as  Confucius  and 
Buddha,  Socrates  and  Mohammed,  may  likewise 
be  called  divine,  though  to  a  less  degree. 

THE  CREED   OF  THE  CLASS   OF   1903 

I  believe  in  one  God,  present  in  nature  as  law, 
in  science  as  truth,  in  art  as  beauty,  in  history 
as  justice,  in  society  as  sympathy,  in  conscience 
as  duty,  and  supremely  in  Christ  as  our  highest 
ideal. 

I  believe  in  the  Bible  as  the  expression  of  God's 
will  through  man ;  in  prayer  as  the  devotion  of 
man's  will  to  God ;  and  in  the  church  as  the  fel- 
lowship of  those  who  try  to  do  God's  will  in  the 
world. 

I  believe  in  worship  as  the  highest  inspiration 
to  work ;  in  sacrifice  as  the  price  we  must  pay  to 


174    THE  CREED  OF  A  COLLEGE  CLASS 

make  right  what  is  wrong ;  in  salvation  as  growth 
out  of  selfishness  into  service ;  in  eternal  life  as 
the  survival  of  what  loves  and  is  lovable  in  each 
individual ;  and  in  judgment  as  the  obvious  fact 
that  the  condition  of  the  gentle,  the  generous,  the 
modest,  the  pure,  and  the  true  is  always  and 
everywhere  preferable  to  that  of  the  cruel,  the  sen- 
sual, the  mean,  the  proud,  and  the  false. 


IX 

The  Choice  of  the  College  Woman 

M  A  ^^  college  women  happier  or  unhappier  than 
l\  other  people?  This  is  the  rather  delicate 
and  dangerous  question  I  propose  to  raise.  The 
answer  is  easy,  but  the  reasons  for  the  answer  are 
more  subtle  and  difficult/  Inasmuch  as  men's  an- 
swers are  occasionally  wrong  and  women's  answers 
are  invariably  right,  while  men's  reasons  are  pre- 
dominantly right  and  women's  reasons  are  occasion- 
ally wrong,  I  do  not  hope  to  change  the  opinion  of 
any  one  of  you  about  the  answer  to  this  question  ; 
but  even  if  you  aU  reject  my  answer,  I  may  still 
hope  to  interest  you  in  the  reasons  by  which  it  is 
supported. 

(My  answer  would  be  that  if  college  women  re- 
main college  women,  and  try  to  bring  the  world  to 

^  them,  they  will  be  very  unhappy ;  but  if  they  go 
into  the  world  forgetting  that  they  are  different 
from  other  people  they  will  be  the  happiest  persons 
there.  Some  years  ago  we  had  a  student  who  was 
a  devoted  lover  of  everything  Greek.  (This  is  so 
rare  an  occurrence  in  men's  colleges  to-day,  that 
you  will  pardon  the  pride  with  which  I  mention  it.) 
One  day  he  fell  in  love,  or  what  with  men  some- 
times passes  for  the  same  thing,  he  thought  he  did. 


176  THE  CHOICE  OF 

He  became  engaged  to  a  charming  young  lady.  One 
moonlight  evening  as  he  was  sitting  with  her  on 
the  lawn  he  dropped  the  fatal  remark,  "  My  dear, 
I  am  afraid  we  shall  never  be  happy  unless  you 
learn  Greek."  Do  you  ask  how  it  came  out  ?  The 
girl  never  did  study  Greek.  Ten  years  later  I  vis- 
ited her  charming  home,  and  found  her  the  happiest 
wife  and  mother  I  have  seen  in  many  a  day,  but  — 
with  another  man.  We  who  had  congratulated  our 
Greek  on  his  engagement,  had  been  obliged  to  con- 
gratulate her  on  breaking  it ;  and  we  added  the 
comment,  in  which  1  am  sure  you  all  mentally  join 
me,  "  She  served  him  right." 

This  little  story  is  about  the  college  woman.  The 
day  of  graduation  marks  her  engagement  to  the 
world.  If  you  say  to  the  world  as  my  Greek  said 
to  his  fiancee,  "My  dear  world,  I  am  afraid  we 
shall  not  be  happy  together  unless  you  acquire  the 
equivalent  of  a  college  education,"  the  world  will 
contrive  to  be  happy  with  somebody  else,  and  leave 
you  very  unhappy.)  ^ 

Perhaps  you  reply,  "  I  never  would  be  such  a  fool 
as  that.  Did  I  not  say  that  the  girl  in  the  story 
served  the  young  pedant  just  right,  when  she  sent 
him  about  his  business  and  married  the  other 
man?" 

Yes.  You  all  say  that  about  the  girl  in  the  story, 
but  in  your  own  persons  you  wiU  be  sorely  tempted 
to   take   the   attitude   of   my  young  Greek.    For 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  177 

stripped  of  its  setting  in  the  moonlight  on  the  lawn, 
what  he  said  was  this :  "  My  dear,  I  am  afraid  we 
never  shall  be  happy  unless  I  keep  the  interests  I 
have,  and  you  acquire  these  same  interests  too." 
Now  I  contend  that  anybody,  man  or  woman,  rich 
or  poor,  married  or  single,  educated  or  uneducated, 
who  says  that  to  the  world  is  doomed  to  be  deserv- 
edly miserable.  And  I  am  afraid  that  college  grad- 
uates, both  men  and  women,  have  peculiar  tempta- 
tions to  take  precisely  that  attitude.  I  am  afraid 
that  their  comparative  freedom  from  the  immediate 
necessity  for  earning  their  living  gives  college  wo- 
men who  are  inclined  to  take  that  attitude  a  better 
opportunity  to  do  so  than  comes  to  college  men. 
That  is  my  reason  for  believing  that  a  certain  class 
of  coUege  women  are  not  only  more  unhappy  than 
other  people,  but  are  about  the  most  unhappy  people 
in  all  the  world,  and  that  they  deserve  aU  the  un- 
happiness  they  get. 

On  the  other  hand  I  believe  that  whoever  says, 
"  Dear  world,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  be  completely 
happy  until  I  have  made  your  interests  mine  "  — 
whoever  says  that,  whether  man  or  woman,  rich 
or  poor,  learned  or  ignorant,  famed  or  obscure — 
will  be  growing  happier  and  happier  every  day,  and 
become  one  of  the  happiest  persons  in  the  world. 
I  believe  their  education  and  their  comparative 
economic  freedom  gives  coUege  women  the  best 
chance  to  take  this  attitude  in  life,  and  therefore 


178  THE  CHOICE   OF 

the  best  opportunity  for  achieving  the  highest  hap- 
piness. 

Inasmuch,  then,  as  college  women  have  more 
chance  to  choose  than  other  people,  and  rather  more 
temptation  in  some  ways  to  choose  wrongly,  I  have 
taken  this  Choice  of  the  CoUege  Woman  for  my 
theme.  Perhaps  you  expect  me  to  set  forth  this 
choice  as  the  familiar  one  between  selfishness  and 
service.  No.  If  I  were  preaching  a  baccalaureate 
sermon,  I  might  fall  back  on  that;  though  it 
would  be  bringing  coals  to  Newcastle  to  present  to 
college  women  the  superiority  of  the  unselfish  hfe. 
No.  Deep  as  that  moral  difference  is,  I  shall  ask 
you  to  choose  to-day  between  something  deeper 
still.  Your  choice  to-day  is  between  aristocracy  and 
democracy,  —  between  the  sense  of  superiority  and 
the  feeling  of  community,  between  the  effort  to 
shine  and  the  wUlingness  to  share.  In  the  home, 
in  the  market,  in  society,  yes,  even  in  charity  work 
and  in  the  social  settlement,  this  deep  distinction 
runs  through  all  you  do.  Though  the  aristocratic 
attitude  tends  to  coincide  with  the  selfish,  it  is  not 
quite  identical  with  it.  Though  democracy  has  an 
affinity  for  service,  the  two  terms  are  by  no  means 
interchangeable. 

A  person  may  be  democratic  in  his  selfishness,  or 
aristocratic  in  his  service.  One  may  try  to  shine  as 
a  stenographer,  or  simply  share  his  best  with  others 
as  a  statesman  or  an  artist.    Deeper  than  vocation, 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  179 

more  closely  related  to  happiness  than  even  moral- 
ity itself,  yes,  even  more  fundamental  than  religion 
sometimes  goes,  is  the  Choice  of  the  College  Woman 
I  to-day  shall  call  on  each  of  you  to  make.  For  in 
the  last  analysis  it  is  nothing  less  than  whether  in 
the  most  comprehensive  relation  to  your  environ- 
ment you  stand  off  and  say,  "  you  and  I  "  with  the 
accent  of  implied  superiority  on  the  "  I,"  or  clasp 
hands  with  your  environment  in  a  genuine  accept- 
ance of  the  pronoun  "  we." 

Inasmuch  as  one  who  takes  the  democratic  side 
of  this  choice  lays  himself  open  to  the  charge  of 
being  a  Philistine,  partly  by  way  of  self-protection 
and  partly  because  the  concrete  pictures  of  poetry 
bring  out  distinctions  better  than  the  pale  abstrac- 
tions of  prose,  I  have  cast  the  discussion  in  the  form 
of  a  running  commentary  on  Stephen  Phillips's  ex- 
quisite poem,  "Marpessa;"  so  that  my  fidl  title 
is,  "  Apollo  or  Idas :  The  Choice  of  the  Col- 
lege Woman."  You  recall  the  situation.  Like  you 
Marpessa  is  called  to  choose  between  shining  down 
on  the  world  with  a  god  above  it,  or  sharing  its  toil 
and  sorrow  with  a  shepherd,  on  a  level  with  his 
humble  human  lot. 

When  the  long  day  that  glideth  without  cload, 
The  summer  day  was  at  her  deep  blue  hour 
They  three  together  met ;  on  the  one  side, 
Fresh  from  diffusing  light  on  all  the  world 
Apollo  ;  on  the  other  without  sleep 
Idas,  and  in  the  midst  Marpessa  stood. 


180  THE  CHOICE  OF 

First  the  god,  assuming  the  rights  of  the  supe- 
rior, sprang  to  embrace  her.    But  they 

Heard  thunder,  and  a  little  afterward 
The  far  Paternal  voice,  "  Let  her  decide." 

Then  in  turn  Apollo  and  Idas,  the  god  and  the 
shepherd,  present  their  suits.  Precisely  so  these 
two  radically  different  attitudes  toward  life  con- 
front the  college  woman  at  the  noon  hour  of  the 
day  she  graduates.  Many,  perhaps  most  of  you 
stand  ready  to  place  the  keeping  of  your  lives  in 
the  hands  of  the  divine  Apollo.  To  shine  down  on 
the  world  with  the  light  of  literature,  of  music,  of 
art,  or  failing  that,  in  the  gentle  ministry  of  the 
social  settlement,  the  charity  organization,  is  the 
ideal  to  which  you  have  devoted  your  future  lives. 
This  is  a  beautiful  ideal ;  I  know  how  it  charms 
and  attracts  the  earnest  college  woman.  Yet  in  the 
name  of  the  "  far  Paternal  voice  "  I  must  ask  you 
to  listen  impartially  to  the  god  and  to  his  human 
rival,  —  I  must  ask  you  to  hear  the  claims  of 
this  life  of  shining  from  above  and  the  claims  of 
the  life  of  sharing  on  a  level;  I  must  set  over 
against  each  other  the  artistic  elevation  of  the 
world,  or  its  socialistic  reformation  from  the  out- 
side, and  the  simple  living  out  of  the  world's 
homely  himian  interests  from  the  inside ;  and  then 
ask  you  to  choose.  More  than  you  can  dream  or 
imagine,  your  individual  happiness  through  all  the 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  181 

coming  years  of  life,  and  the  estimation  of  col- 
lege women  as  a  class,  depend  on  this  momentous 
decision.  First  let  us  listen  to  the  god,  —  a  voice 
familiar  to  you  all,  and  to  which  I  am  sure  many  of 
you  are  on  the  point  of  yielding. 

Apollo  says :  — 

"lUve 
Forever  in  a  deep  deliberate  bliss, 
A  spirit  gliding  through  tranquillity  ; 
Yet  when  I  saw  thee  I  imagined  woe, 
That  thou,  who  art  so  fair,  shouldst  ever  taste 
Of  the  earth-sorrow  :  for  thy  life  has  been 
The  history  of  a  flower  in  the  air, 
Liable  but  to  breezes  and  to  time. 
As  rich  and  purposeless  as  is  the  rose  : 
Thy  simple  doom  is  to  be  beautiful. 
Thee  God  created  but  to  grow,  not  strive, 
And  not  to  suffer,  merely  to  be  sweet." 

**  But  if  thou  'It  live  with  me,  then  shalt  thou  bide 
In  mere  felicity  above  the  world. 
In  peace  alive  and  moving,  where  to  stir 
Is  ecstasy,  and  thrilling  is  repose." 

"  And  I  will  carry  thee  above  the  world, 
To  share  my  ecstasy  of  flinging  beams. 
And  scattering  without  intermission  joy." 

"  Or  since  thou  art  a  woman,  thou  shalt  have 
More  tender  tasks  : 
To  lure  into  the  air  a  face  long  sick. 
To  gild  the  brow  that  from  its  dead  looks  up, 
To  shine  on  the  unforgiven  of  this  world  : 
With  slow  sweet  surgery  restore  the  brain. 
And  to  dispel  shadows  and  shadowy  fear." 


182  THE  CHOICE  OF 

Such  and  so  persuasive  is  the  appeal  of  the  ar- 
tistic life,  the  life  of  the  social  reformer.  To  feel 
that  we  belong  above  and  apart ;  and  yet  that 
we  send  down  an  illuminating  radiance,  a  healing 
effluence,  —  that  appeals  to  us  as  something  divi- 
ner than  just  being  one  of  the  toiling,  suffering 
masses  on  whom  the  light  is  shed.  To  travel,  and 
get  impressions  of  art  and  music ;  to  read,  and  get 
stores  of  literature  and  science ;  to  give  lectures, 
or  write  articles,  or  work  out  some  social  reform 
—  be  honest  now  and  tell  me,  is  not  something  of 
this  sort  the  ideal  of  life  that  is  hovering  over  you 
as  the  best  use  to  which  a  college  woman  can  put 
her  college  education  ? 

Now  I  will  not  attempt  to  deny  that  there  is 
beauty  and  worth  in  this  ideal.  All  I  ask  is  that, 
before  you  accept  it  as  the  highest,  you  hear  what 
can  be  said  for  the  humble,  homely  human  sharing 
of  the  world's  experience  from  within,  as  one  of 
the  rank  and  file.  And  since  we  have  had  the 
former  plea  in  its  poetic  form,  to  be  fair,  let  the 
poet  plead  again. 

When  he  had  spoken,  humbly  Idas  said  : 
"  After  such  argument  what  can  I  plead  ? 
Or  what  pale  promise  make  ?   Yet  since  it  is 
In  woman  to  pity  rather  than  to  aspire, 
A  little  I  will  speak." 

Then  comes  the  great  statement  of  woman's  mis- 
sion in  the  world,  not  as  one  of  remote  and  isolated 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  183 

illumination,  as  of  a  sun  in  the  heavens,  but  of 
sympathy,  enlargement,  and  inspiration,  as  of  a 
modest  common  candle  lighting  its  little  sphere  in 
the  surroimding  dark.  It  does  not  ask  for  radi- 
ance and  glory  to  reform  things  from  above.  It 
pleads  for  the  comradeship  and  kindliness  that 
shall  lift  the  common  human  task  up  into  its  infi- 
nite and  eternal  significance,  and  make  earth  a 
part  of  heaven ;  the  present  the  heir  of  all  the  rich- 
ness of  the  past,  and  the  promise  of  all  the  glory 

that  is  to  come. 

"  I  love  thee  then 
Not  for  that  face  that  might  indeed  provoke 
Invasion  of  old  cities  ;  no,  nor  all 
Thy  freshness  stealing  on  me  like  strange  sleep. 
Not  for  this  only  do  I  love  thee,  but 
Because  Infinity  upon  thee  broods  ; 
And  thou  art  full  of  whispers  and  of  shadows. 
Thou  meanest  what  the  sea  has  striven  to  say 
So  long,  and  yearned  up  the  cliffs  to  tell ; 
Thou  art  what  all  the  winds  have  uttered  not, 
What  the  still  night  suggesteth  to  the  heart. 
Thy  voice  is  like  to  music  heard  ere  birth, 
Some  spirit  lute  touched  on  a  spirit  sea  ; 
Thy  face  remembered  is  from  other  worlds. 
It  has  been  died  for,  though  I  know  not  when, 
It  has  been  sung  of,  though  I  know  not  where. 
It  has  the  strangeness  of  the  luring  West, 
And  of  sad  sea-horizons;  beside  thee 
I  am  aware  of  other  times  and  lands, 
Of  birth  far  back,  of  lives  in  many  stars. 
O  beauty  lone  and  like  a  candle  clear 
In  this  dark  country  of  the  world  !   Thou  art 
My  woe,  my  early  light,  my  music  dying." 


184  THE  CHOICE  OF 

I  shall  not  detain  you  to-day  to  draw  out  at 
length  the  prose  equivalent  of  these  poetic  pleas. 
I  simply  place  before  you  these  two  alternatives : 
to  be  a  brilliant  benefactress  in  some  special  way, 
and  to  be  a  simple  sharer,  in  humble  helpfulness, 
of  the  common  human  lot,  lifting  your  little  place 
and  station  by  the  inspiration  of  your  culture  and 
your  kindliness,  instead  of  shedding  a  dazzling  radi- 
ance on  some  vast  problem  of  the  world  at  large. 
Before  leaving  our  poet,  however,  I  must  give  you 
briefly  the  answer  of  his  maiden,  an  answer  which 
in  substance  I  hope  will  be  the  answer  of  each  one 
of  you.  Taking  the  shepherd's  human  hand  in  hers, 
she  thus  addressed  the  god :  — 

"  Fain  would  I  know 
Yon  heavenly  wafting  through  the  heaven  wide, 
And  the  large  view  of  the  subjected  seas, 
And  famous  cities,  and  the  various  toil 
Of  men:  all  Asia  at  my  feet  spread  out 
In  indolent  magnificence  of  bloom  I 
Africa  in  her  matted  hair  obscured, 
And  India  in  meditation  plunged  ! " 

"  But  dearest,  this. 
To  gild  the  face  that  from  its  dead  looks  up, 
To  shine  on  the  rejected,  and  arrive 
To  women  that  remember  in  the  night  ; 
Or  mend  with  sweetest  surgery  the  mind. 
And  yet,  forgive  me  if  I  can  but  speak 
Most  human  words." 

"  As  yet  I  have  known  no  sorrow;  all  my  days 
Like  perfect  lilies  under  water  stir, 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  185 

And  God  has  sheltered  me  from  his  own  wind  ; 
The  darling  of  his  breezes  I  have  been." 

"  Yet  as  to  one  inland,  that  dreameth  lone, 
Seafaring  men  with  their  sea^weary  eyes 
Round  the  inn-fire  tell  of  some  foreign  land, 
So  aged  men,  much  tossed  about  in  life, 
Have  told  me  of  that  country.  Sorrow  far." 

"  And  most  I  remember  of  all  human  things 
My  mother  ;  often  as  a  child  I  pressed 
My  face  against  her  cheek,  and  felt  her  tears  ; 
Even  as  she  smiled  on  me,  her  eyes  would  fill, 
Until  my  own  grew  ignorantly  wet ; 
And  I  in  silence  wondered  at  sorrow." 

"  Out  of  our  sadness  have  we  made  this  world 
So  beautiful." 

"  To  all  this  sorrow  I  was  bom,  and  since 
Out  of  a  human  womb  I  came,  I  am 
Not  eager  to  forego  it ;  I  would  scorn 
To  elude  the  heaviness  and  take  the  joy." 

The  college  woman  who  plunges  immediately 
into  scholarly,  artistic,  literary,  or  even  into  set- 
tlement or  philanthropic  work,  though  she  sheds 
light  on  the  problems  and  comforts  the  sorrows 
o£  others,  in  so  doing  is  really  shirking  her  own 
hardest  problem,  and  eluding  for  herself  the  most 
trying  of  personal  sorrows.  I  have  not  a  word  to 
say  against  these  forms  of  service  when  rightly 
approached,  but  on  the  contrary  the  highest  com- 
mendation.  I  simply  tell  you  that  the  right  ap- 


186  THE  CHOICE  OF 

proach  to  these  things  is  not  straight  from  a  college 
commencement.  College  life  is  abnormal;  it  is 
artificially  shielded.  AU  your  days  "  like  perfect 
lilies  under  water  stir."  You  have  been  these  four 
years  sheltered  from  God's  wind,  the  darlings  of 
his  breezes.  What  have  you  known  of  the  dreary 
drudgery  that  underlies  the  happy  life  of  a  grow- 
ing family  of  children  ?  What  do  you  know  of  the 
tremendous  crush  of  cruel  competition  ?  What  do 
you,  you  who  have  been  the  special  objects  of  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  dollars  of  invested  capital 
and  scores  of  expert  instructors  and  sympathetic 
advisers,  —  what  do  you  know  of  the  coldness  and 
hardness  and  indifference  of  a  world  where  each  is 
supremely  intent  on  his  own  selfish  ends,  and  treats 
you  merely  as  an  obstruction,  a  rival,  or  at  best  as 
a  tool  ?  You  must  bear  on  your  own  back  your 
share  of  the  world-burden,  and  feel  in  your  own 
heart  your  part  in  the  world-sorrow,  in  normal  ex- 
perience within  the  home,  the  shop,  the  market, 
before  you  have  the  slightest  possibility  of  being 
able  profitably  to  shine  down  upon  it  from  above 
with  artistic  radiance  or  social  reformation.  Ask 
any  editor,  and  he  will  tell  you  how  worthless  is 
your  poetic  effusion ;  ask  any  head  worker  and  he 
will  tell  you  how  superfluous  your  social  service 
must  be,  until  in  some  normal  relation  you  have 
first  learned  to  bear  your  own  burden,  and  take 
your  fair  share  of  the  homely  toil  and  humdrum 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  187 

discomfort  of  which  every  useful  life  is  full.  After 
you  have  borne  your  own  share  of  the  world's  bur- 
den and  sorrow,  you  may  be  promoted  to  express 
the  feelings  of  the  world  in  letters,  or  to  comfort 
its  heart  in  social  service.  But  you  must  first  serve 
the  long  apprenticeship  to  real  life,  of  which  as  yet 
most  of  you  have  not  the  faintest  conception. 

Yet  I  would  not  leave  the  impression  that  joy  is 
to  be  found  with  Apollo,  and  only  suffering  with 
Idas.  True  to  life,  our  poet  teaches  us  precisely 
the  reverse.  ApoUo  grows  weary  of  his  devotee. 
It  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  human  mind  to  be 
perpetually  brilliant.  An  ardent  lover,  Apollo  is 
a  very  exacting  and  indifferent  husband.  The 
deeper  sort  of  men  soon  learn  that  little  real  satis- 
faction is  to  be  gained  through  either  intellectual 
brilliancy  or  public  service.  They  seek  their  deeper 
joy  in  simpler  ways,  from  more  homely,  fireside 
sources! 

With  women  the  inadequacy  of  the  literary  or 
public  life  to  afford  real  happiness  is  much  more 
apparent. 

Whether  for  man  or  for  woman,  but  far  more 
for  woman  than  for  man,  true  and  lasting  happi- 
ness is  to  be  found  not  in  the  brilliant  intellec- 
tual or  social  performance,  but  in  the  plain  hand- 
in-hand  walking  with  a  comrade  along  the  dusty 
streets  of  daily  duty,  and  in  the  peaceful  glades  of 
private  life.    All  this  Marpessa  has  told  so  well  in 


188  THE  CHOICE  OF 

her  rejection  of  Apollo  and  her  acceptance  of  Idas, 
that  she  shall  be  our  final  spokesman  here  to-day. 

««Ah,I 
Should  ail  beside  thee,  Apollo,  and  should  note 
With  eyes  that  would  not  be,  but  yet  are  dim, 
Ever  so  slight  a  change  from  day  to  day 
In  thee  my  husband ;  watch  thee  nudge  thyself 
To  little  offices  that  once  were  sweet. 
I  should  expect  thee  by  the  Western  bay, 
Faded,  not  sure  of  thee,  with  desperate  smiles, 
And  pitiful  devices  of  my  dress 
Or  fashion  of  my  hair  ;  thou  wouldst  grow  kind, — 
Most  bitter  to  a  woman  that  was  loved. 
I  must  ensnare  thee  to  my  arms,  and  touch 
Thy  pity,  to  but  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 
But  if  I  live  with  Idas,  then  we  two 
On  the  low  earth  shall  prosper  hand  in  hand 
In  odours  of  the  open  field,  and  live 
In  peaceful  noises  of  the  farm,  and  watch 
The  pastoral  fields  burned  by  the  setting  sun." 

"  Or  at  some  festival  we  two 
Will  wander  through  the  lighted  city  streets  ; 
And  in  the  crowd  I  '11  take  his  arm  and  feel 
Him  closer  for  the  press.   So  shall  we  live." 

«  There  shall  succeed  a  faithful  peace; 
Beautiful  friendship  tried  by  sun  and  wind, 
Durable  from  the  daily  dust  of  life." 

"  But  we  shall  sit  with  luminous  holy  smiles, 
Endeared  by  many  griefs,  by  many  a  jest. 
And  custom  sweet  of  living  side  by  side; 
And  full  of  memories  not  unkindly  glance 
Upon  each  other." 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  189 

"  Still  like  old  friends,  glad  to  have  met,  and  leave 
Behind  a  wholesome  memory  on  the  earth." 

You  have  my  answer  to  the  question  concern- 
ing the  happiness  of  college  women,  and  the  rea- 
sons therefor.  In  conclusion,  to  sum  it  all  up  in 
condensed  and  abstract  form,  differentiation  and 
specialization  are  essential  to  the  largest  usefulness 
and  the  highest  happiness.  The  college  has  made' 
you  different  from  other  people,  and  fitted  you  for 
a  highly  useful  and  honorable  service  to  the  world, 
and  thus  placed  the  possibility  of  happiness  within 
your  reach. 

But  the  consciousness  of  being  different  from 
other  people,  the  sense  of  superiority,  the  disposi- 
tion to  look  down  upon  them,  is  highly  injurious 
to  usefulness,  and  absolutely  fatal  to  happiness. 
The  aristocrat,  whether  his  aristocracy  be  based 
on  birth  or  wealth  or  station  or  culture,  is  always 
an  unhappy  man.  All  the  pessimists  and  cynics, 
all  the  world-weary  and  the  disconsolate,  if  you 
probe  the  secret  source  of  their  complaint,  betray 
the  fatal  germ  of  aristocracy  preying  on  their  hearts. 
There  is  a  deep  reason  why  this  must  be  so.  Happi- 
ness and  unhappiness  register  the  sense  of  transition 
as  we  go  out  of  our  constant,  neutral,  normal  state 
of  feeling  which  we  carry  with  us  all  the  time,  to 
some  state  induced  in  us  by  contact  with  the  world. 
Now  the  modest  person,  the  democrat,  always  finds 
in  the  world  outside,  and  in  the  other  people  in  it, 


V 


190  THE  CHOICE  OF 

something  as  good  as  himself,  or  a  little  better; 
consequently  his  sense  of  contact  with  the  world  is 
always  agreeable,  and  registers  itself  in  the  form 
of  happiness.  The  aristocrat,  on  the  other  hand, 
never  gets  anything  that  is  better  than  himself ; 
and  in  the  majority  of  his  contacts  he  strikes  what 
he  regards  as  worse.  Hence  his  chronic  unhappi- 
ness,  and  the  wail  of  pessimism  in  which  he  pro- 
claims his  misery  to  the  world. 

Every  genuine  and  modest  democrat,  man  or 
woman,  rich  or  poor,  learned  or  ignorant,  beautiful 
or  plain,  famous  or  obscure,  is  bound  to  be  predom- 
inantly happy.  The  laws  of  psychology,  the  nature 
of  things,  the  constitution  of  the  universe,  the  de- 
crees of  God,  compel  them  to  be  happy.  For  every 
touch  brings  a  thrill  of  sympathy;  every  contact 
expands ;  every  relation  enlarges  ;  every  experience 
enriches ;  every  outlook  uplifts ;  every  glance  dis- 
covers good ;  every  breath  draws  inspiration :  the 
whole  world  is  ablaze  with  glory,  and  the  meanest 
thing  and  the  lowliest  person  are  links  that  lift 
one  into  fellowship  with  what  is  felt  to  be  better 
than  one's  self,  chains  that  draw  one  toward  the 
omnipresent  throne  of  the  Most  High. 

All  persons  who  are  tainted  with  the  disease  of 
aristocracy,  whether  the  fancied  superiority  rest  on 
birth  or  wealth  or  beauty  or  skill  or  education, 
whether  men  or  women,  old  or  young,  in  public 
or  in  private  life,  are  bound  to  be  at  heart  bitter, 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  191 

lonely,  and  unhappy.  All  the  principlefl  of  psy- 
chology, all  the  laws  of  society,  all  the  decrees  of 
God  combine  to  doom  them  to  ever-present  and 
everlasting  misery.  Turn  where  they  will,  they 
meet  what,  judged  by  the  standard  they  have  set 
up  within  their  own  conceit,  seems  base,  low,  dull, 
stupid,  uninteresting.  Misery  is  the  loathsome  in- 
side of  the  living  sepulchre  of  which  aristocracy  is 
the  whited  exterior.  There  never  was  a  man  who 
on  any  ground  considered  himself  superior  to  the 
rank  and  file  of  his  fellows  who  was  really  happy. 
And  just  because  woman  is  more  sensitive  to  these 
personal  relations,  there  never  was  a  proud  woman 
who  was  not,  as  the  inevitable  counterpart  of  her 
pride,  eating  her  heart  out  in  the  gall  of  bitter- 
ness. 

There  is  no  law  of  nature  more  inevitable,  no 
decree  of  God  more  inexorable  than  this, — that  the 
democrat,  with  his  modest  sense  of  equality  and 
his  readiness  for  admiration  and  respect  toward 
his  fellows,  must  be  happy  ;  and  that  the  aristocrat, 
with  his  sense  of  superiority  and  habit  of  contempt, 
must  be  wretched.  You  college  women  have  some- 
thing which  the  rest  of  the  world  has  not.  Forget 
it,  —  think  of  the  farmer,  the  mechanic,  the  clerk 
as  your  brothers ;  the  seamstress,  the  shop-girl,  the 
factory  hand  as  your  sisters ;  respect  and  reverence 
their  contribution  to  the  world  as  highly  as  you  re- 
spect and  reverence  your  own  ;  look  forward  to  the 


192  THE  CHOICE  OF 

time  when,  after  years  of  apprenticesliip  to  real 
life,  you  may  do  your  little  part  with  something  of 
the  patient,  modest,  cheerful  unpretentiousness  and 
genuineness  with  which  they  already  are  doing 
theirs ;  and  they  will  welcome  and  appreciate  you 
as  the  most  exalted  of  their  sisters ;  you  will  be 
happy  in  your  own  usefulness  and  in  the  honor  they 
will  freely  bestow  on  you  and  the  class  of  women 
you  represent. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  you  dare  to  think  of  your- 
selves as  superior  to  them,  if  you  draw  yourselves 
apart,  if  you  condescend  to  them  even  to  pity  or 
to  serve,  if  you  put  up  the  bars  of  intellectual  and 
social  aristocracy  between  them  and  you,  they  wiU 
hate  you,  and  despise  you,  and  ridicule  you ;  and 
the  sense  of  your  own  isolation  and  alienation  will 
burn  itself  into  your  soul  like  a  withering,  scorching 
curse.  There  will  be  no  lost  wretch  in  the  slums, 
no  downtrodden  drudge  in  the  tenements,  no  day 
laborer  in  the  ditches,  no  obscure  toiler  at  the  looms 
with  a  heavier,  sadder  heart  than  you. 

The  choice  is  momentous.  The  issues  for  the 
individual  are  those  of  happiness  or  misery ;  for 
society,  whether,  now  that  the  old  aristocracies  of 
state  and  church  are  broken  down,  we  shall  have 
new  aristocracies  of  wealth  and  culture  to  corrupt 
and  embitter  alike  despisers  and  despised.  The 
college  man,  for  the  most  part  to-day,  becomes  a 
democrat  of  necessity ;  for  there  are  not  enough 


THE  COLLEGE  WOMAN  193 

aristocratic  stations  to  go  around,  and  the  world 
no  longer  bestows  a  living  on  either  hereditary 
or  professional  aristocratic  pretensions.  May  our 
college  women  do  in  freedom  what  their  college 
brothers  do  under  economic  compulsion !  May  they 
be  the  comrades  of  all  who  labor,  the  sisters  of  all 
who  serve  I 


The  Worth  of  the  Womanly  Ideal 

MR.  DOOLEY  once  remarked  to  Mr.  Hen- 
nessey that  in  his  youth  he  wrote  a  book 
about  woman ;  but  when  in  maturer  life  he  came 
to  publish  it  he  added  at  the  end  what  the  scientists 
call  Errata^  in  which  he  requested  his  readers, 
wherever  in  its  pages  they  found  "  is  "  to  substi- 
tute "  is  not,"  and  wherever  they  found  "  is  not "  to 
substitute  "may  be,"  "perhaps,"  or  "God  knows." 
Pretty  much  everything  that  has  ever  Jbeen  said 
on  the  subject  of  women's  rights,  whether  by  men 
or  women,  whether  on  the  one  side  or  the  other, 
requires  to-day  the  radical  revision  to  which  Mr. 
Dooley  subjected  his  youthful  manuscript. 

Though  individual  women  still  suffer  grievous 
wrongs,  yet,  broadly  speaking,  women's  rights  are 
won.  Women's  rights  are  all  within  her  grasp,  or 
at  least  within  her  reach.  We  can  say  with  John 
Davidson :  — 

Free  to  look  at  fact, 
Free  to  come  and  go, 
Free  to  think  and  act. 
Now  you  surely  know 
The  wrongs  of  womanhead 
At  last  are  fairly  dead. 


WORTH  OF  THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL    195 

The  solution  of  one  social  problem,  however, 
prepares  the  way  for  another.  Now  that  women 
can  have  anything  they  want,  the  question  arises, 
%  "^  What  do  women  want  ?  What  career  is  best  for 
them?  In  other  words,  the  modern  question  is 
no  longer  one  of  women's  rights.  It  has  become 
the  question  of  the  Womanly  Ideal. 

When  we  pass  from  rights  to  ideals,  when  we 
stop  asking  what  can  women  be  permitted  to  have, 
and  ask  instead,  what  do  women  reaUy  want,  then 
we  get  our  answer  no  longer  in  terms  of  equal- 
ity, but  in  terms  of  difference.  The  demand  for 
women's  rights  got  for  its  answer.  Let  us  try  to 
make  men  and  women  as  nearly  alike  as  possi- 
ble ;  let  us  give  them  the  same  education  and  set 
them  the  same  tasks;  let  us  measure  them  by 
the  same  standard  and  pay  them  in  the  same  coin. 
The  recognition  of  the  W^orth  of  the  Womanly 
Ideal  wiU  give  us  as  its  fulfillment  a  deepening  of 
the  differences  between  men  and  women.  It  wiU 
teach  us  to  train  men  and  women  in  different  ways 
.  for  different  tasks.  It  will  estimate  their  success 
on  an  entirely  different  scale,  —  offer  them  differ- 
ent rewards  for  success,  and  punish  their  failures 
by  different  penalties. 

First,  what  is  the  difference  between  the  eco- 
nomic ideal  for  men  and  that  for  women  ?  The  most 
fundamental  distinction  in  economics  is  between 
production  and  consumption.    The  two,  though  dis- 


196  THE  WORTH  OF 

tinguisliable,  like  the  convex  and  concave  aspects 
of  a  curve,  are  practically  inseparable.  Production 
is  for  the  sake  of  consumption.  Consumption  pre- 
supposes production.  A  person  who  does  not  share 
the  proceeds  of  his  production  with  others  is  a 
money-mad  miser.  The  person  whose  consumption 
does  not  rest  on  production  is  a  thieving  parasite. 
Of  course  production  may  be  vicarious ;  husband 
and  father  producing  for  wife  and  children ;  and 
consumption  may  be  delegated,  wife  or  daughter 
taking  charge  of  the  whole  family  expenditure. 

In  a  broad  way,  subject  to  exceptions  and  quali- 
fications to  be  made  a  little  later,  the  manly  eco- 
nomic ideal  is  the  effective  direction  of  production ; 
the  womanly  ideal  is  the  beneficent  ordering  of 
consumption.  Let  us  consider  the  womanly  ideal 
first. 

Goods  are  not  immediately  useful  when  produced 
in  large  quantities.  Food  must  be  prepared  and 
served.  The  house  must  be  furnished  and  kept  in 
order.  Cloth  must  be  fitted  to  the  person  who 
is  to  wear  it,  and  kept  cleanly  and  presentable. 
Children  must  be  separately  reared  and  individu- 
ally trained.  Hospitality  must  be  extended.  The 
sick  must  be  nursed  and  the  aged  must  be  cared 
for. 

The  right  rendering  and  ordering  of  these  and 
kindred  services  is  woman's  distinctive  economic 
function.    Happy  is  the  woman  who  as  daughter, 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  197 

sister,  wife,  mother,  finds  herself  excused  from  the 
task  of  direct  economic  production  by  the  gen- 
erous devotion  of  father,  brother,  husband,  or  son, 
and  can  find  the  economic  justification  of  her  life 
in  this  ministry  and  superintendence  of  the  common 
household  consumption.  For  it  is  a  function  just 
as  necessary,  just  as  useful,  just  as  honorable  as 
law,  or  banking,  or  commerce,  or  agriculture,  or 
manufacture,  or  transportation.  It  is  a  function  for 
which  women  are  by  nature  and  taste  eminently 
fitted,  and  for  which  most  manly  men  are  conspicu- 
ously unfit.  It  is  a  wise  distribution  of  economic 
functions  which  assigns  in  this  broad  way  the 
direction  of  economic  production  to  men,  and  the 
ordering  of  economic  consumption  to  women. 

If  this  beneficent  ordering  of  consumption  in  and 
through  a  home  which  is  provided  by  the  productive 
labor  of  others  is  the  best  opportunity  for  the 
expression  of  the  womanly  ideal,  what  remains  for 
the  women,  of  whom  there  are  some  five  million  in 
this  country,  who  are  compelled  to  earn  the  whole 
or  a  portion  of  their  living  ?  They  of  course  must 
seek  employment.  What  sort  of  employment  shall 
they  seek? 

In  attempting  to  answer  this  question,  you  must 
allow  me  to  make  one  somewhat  technical  distinc- 
tion, —  the  distinction  between  production  for  im- 
mediate consumption,  in  a  specific  locality,  for  per- 
sons who  are  well  known,  and  with  whom  there  is 


198  THE  WORTH  OF 

or  can  be  established  some  personal  relationship,  on 
the  one  hand ;  and  production  for  what  economists 
call  the  speculative  market,  "  conjunctive  produc- 
tion," as  the  German  economists  call  it ;  production 
which  is  determined  by  the  play  of  world-forces, 
for  a  general  market,  in  unrestricted  competition 
with  every  other  producer.  Examples  of  produc- 
tion for  immediate  consumption  are  nursing,  domes- 
tic service,  teaching,  type-writing,  retailing  in  small 
communities,  work  for  wages  or  salaries  in  factories 
or  offices,  the  practice  of  medicine,  acting,  music, 
the  management  of  such  local  industries  as  serve 
patrons  personally  known  to  the  manager.  In  all 
these  forms  of  production  for  immediate  consump- 
tion, the  fidelity,  the  thoroughness,  the  tact,  the 
courtesy,  the  sympathy,  the  aesthetic  sense  and  so- 
cial grace  of  woman  give  her  a  certain  advantage 
which  partly  or  wholly  —  and  sometimes  more  than 
wholly  —  offsets  the  superior  physical  strength  of 
man. 

These  are  the  careers  in  which  women  who  have 
to  earn  their  own  living,  or  that  of  persons  depend- 
ent upon  them,  will  find  their  best  satisfaction  and 
success.  A  woman  can  succeed  in  these  callings ; 
and  what  is  of  more  consequence,  she  can  succeed 
with  no  loss  of  that  generous  interest  and  kindly  ser- 
vice for  others  which  is  such  an  essential  part  of  the 
womanly  ideal.  Indeed,  in  aU  these  callings  women 
contrive  to  become  more  rather  than  less  womanly. 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  199 

enlarging  the  circle  of  those  whom  they  love  and 
serve  with  true  womanly  devotion  to  include  their 
pupils,  their  employers,  their  customers,  their  pa- 
trons, and  their  patients. 

What  then  remains  exclusively  for  men  ?  From 
what  economic  activities  does  the  womanly  ideal 
exclude  woman  altogether?  This  exclusively  mas- 
culine sphere  is  production  on  the  large  scale,  pro- 
duction for  the  speculative  market,  conjunctive 
production;  production  in  competition  and  colli- 
sion with  the  vast,  shifting,  hostile,  stubborn  facts 
and  forces  of  the  world. 

Here  woman  is  doomed  to  financial  failure  if  she 
enters  the  arena,  and  even  if  she  should  succeed 
financially,  as  in  one  case  in  ten  thousand  I  should 
admit  that  she  might,  it  would  be  at  a  cost  to  her 
physical  health  or  to  her  personal  character  and 
womanly  nature  which  would  make  her  financial 
success  more  pathetic  than  financial  failure.  To 
this  statement  I  of  course  admit  the  rare  exception. 
Indeed,  when  I  go  to  New  York  I  sometimes  call 
on  a  lady,  an  old  friend  of  my  school-days,  who  has 
made  a  fortune  in  mining,  and  is  secretary  and  di- 
rector of  several  successful  mining  enterprises,  and 
whom  I  find  as  charming  as  ever.  But  then  when 
I  come  back  to  Boston  I  find  one  of  my  Harvard 
classmates  a  very  successful  dressmaker,  having 
made  a  good  deal  more  money  in  this  business  than 
most  of  us  who  have  followed  more  masculine  vo- 


200  THE   WORTH   OF 

cations.  One  case  is  just  as  extremely  exceptional 
as  the  other,  and  neither  invalidates  the  general 
principle  that  mining  is  on  the  whole  a  masculine, 
and  dressmaking  a  feminine  vocation. 

These  exclusively  masculine  vocations,  such  as 
mining,  manufacturing,  transportation,  law,  bank- 
ing, commerce,  wholesale  trade,  involve  a  degree  of 
strain,  a  kind  of  contact,  a  sort  of  emotional  and  men- 
tal attitude  which  not  one  woman  in  a  million  can 
stand  without  either  disaster  or  deterioration.  For 
the  producer  of  a  general  commodity  comes  into  in- 
tense competition  with  everybody  in  his  line  of  busi- 
ness. He  is  exposed  to  severe  strain,  enormous  risk, 
frequent  quarrels,  perpetual  antagonism.  He  must 
be  constantly  alert  to  adapt  methods  and  processes 
to  changing  conditions  and  varying  demands.  He 
must  make  important  decisions  instantaneously ; 
take  risks  by  telegraph  which  hang  in  the  balance 
between  profit  and  loss  for  weeks  and  months ; 
strike  hard  blows  swiftly ;  deal  resolutely  with  dis- 
honest contractors,  insolvent  debtors,  striking  work- 
men, incompetent  agents,  unscrupulous  competitors, 
corrupt  politicians,  fickle  customers,  treacherous 
friends,  and  secret  enemies  almost  every  day  of  his 
active  business  life.  In  this  strife  of  contending 
interests,  where  good  and  bad  meet  on  equal  terms, 
asking  no  favor  and  giving  no  quarter,  in  the  face 
of  enmity  and  calumny,  fraud  and  deception,  men 
manage  to  turn  out  their  product,  and  make  their 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  201 

enterprises  a  success,  without  a  very  large  propor- 
tion of  physical  breakdowns,  and  without  the  de- 
struction of  their  personal  character.  Under  these 
conditions  the  normal  woman  could  not  succeed  in 
more  than  one  case  in  ten  thousand  ;  and  even  then 
she  would  be  almost  sure  to  perish  on  one  of  the 
two  rocks  that  guard  this  narrow  passage,  —  nervous 
prostration  or  hardening  of  heart.  No  law  to-day 
forbids  a  woman  from  entering  these  competitive 
careers.  The  womanly  ideal  forbids  it;  and  it  does 
so  on  the  ground  that  the  womanly  ideal  is  of  such 
supreme  worth,  to  herseK  and  to  her  children,  to 
her  family  and  to  the  world,  that  she  ought  not  to 
run  the  risk  of  losing  it  for  the  sake  of  the  largest 
rewards  these  competitive  careers  hold  out  to  the 
winners. 

The  feminine  ideal,  to  make  toil  tolerable,  and 
leisure  enjoyable,  and  home  habitable,  and,  in  Ste- 
venson's phrase,  life  livable,  by  the  beneficent 
ordering  of  consumption,  and  the  gentle  ministry 
to  individual  persons,  whether  in  the  home  or  in 
some  not  too  exacting  and  impersonal  vocation, — 
this  is  so  supremely  precious  that  the  woman  who 
risks  it  for  an  attempt  to  imitate  or  rival  the  activ- 
ities of  men  in  conjunctive  production  wrongs  her 
own  soul,  and  in  so  doing  robs  the  world  of  her 
most  distinctive  and  valuable  contribution. 

In  scholarship  this  same  distinction  between  pro- 
duction and  the  beneficent  ordering  of  consumption 


202  THE  WORTH  OF 

will  guide  us  to  the  distinction  between  the  mas- 
culine and  the  feminine  ideals.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  the  pretty  ignoramus,  the  regular-featured 
nonentity,  has  ceased  to  be  either  the  ideal  women 
cherish  for  themselves,  or  the  one  which  men  have 
for  them.  We  all  agree  that  there  should  be  ele- 
mentary education  for  all  women ;  secondary  edu- 
cation for  those  whose  parents  can  afford  to  give 
it  to  them ;  college  education  for  those  who  have 
the  financial  means  and  physical  health ;  graduate 
education  for  those  who  add  to  these  qualifica- 
tions marked  capacity  in  some  special  line.  Having 
granted  these  rights,  the  question  remains.  What 
is  the  ideal  for  women,  and  how  does  it  differ 
from  the  ideal  for  men  ? 

Women  are  larger  consumers  and  better  dis- 
tributors of  knowledge  than  men.  They  read  more 
books,  and  get  more  satisfaction  out  of  intellectual 
pursuits  than  men.  Put  boys  and  girls  together  in 
school  and  college,  and  if  you  are  foolish  enough 
to  give  them  their  relative  rank,  and  to  offer  them 
prizes,  the  girls  will  win  much  more  than  their 
proportion.  Indeed  many  coeducational  institutions 
have  been  forced  to  put  up  some  sort  of  protec- 
tive barrier  in  order  to  give  the  poor  boys  half  a 
chance.  The  problem  of  women's  education  is  not, 
as  in  the  case  of  men,  to  provide  spurs  for  the 
flanks  of  laziness,  and  blinders  against  temptations 
to  dissipation,  but  to  devise  sufficiently  effective 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  203 

checks  and  hold-backs  to  keep  them  from  drafting 
off  into  intellectual  and  social  activities  the  vital- 
ity which  nature  intrusted  to  them  for  more  funda- 
mental functions.  The  one  danger  is  that  woman, 
driven  by  keen  intellectual  ambition,  and  backed 
by  an  uncompromising  conscience,  will  spend  so 
freely  of  her  vital  forces  on  study,  and  the  social 
interests  which  study  stimulates,  that  she  will 
lose  what  for  her  are  infinitely  more  important, 
—  healthy  outdoor  life,  superabundant  physical 
vigor,  democratic  interests,  cheerful  temper.  Piti- 
ful beyond  expression  is  the  mistake  of  those 
women  who  squander  the  wealth  of  physical  vital- 
ity meant  for  twenty  generations  to  gain  some 
paltry  academic  honor  or  ephemeral  social  success. 
Terrible  are  the  penalties  nature  exacts,  —  muscu- 
lar flabbiness,  nervous  exhaustion,  sharp-featured 
irritability,  flat-chested  sterility.  The  over-ambi- 
tious society  girl  or  schoolgirl  who  diverts  into 
channels  of  her  individual  social  vanity  or  intel- 
lectual ambition,  during  the  first  few  years  of  her 
lifetime,  what  nature  lent  her  as  a  trust  for  the 
benefit  of  future  generations,  is  guilty  of  a  sin 
against  the  fountain-head  of  humanity,  a  crime 
against  the  race.  And  the  fact  that  this  crime  is 
being  committed  by  thousands  of  the  most  sweet- 
natured,  conscientious,  and  self-sacrificing  girls  in 
the  civilized  world  does  not  in  the  least  mitigate  the 
heinous  nature  of  the  offense,  nor  will  it  diminish 


204  THE  WORTH  OF 

by  a  single  stripe  the  inexorable  penalty  which  out- 
raged nature  will  exact.  In  her  own  interest,  in 
the  interest  of  her  family,  and  in  the  interest  of  the 
race,  woman's  education  shoidd  never  be  permitted 
to  intrench  on  perfect  health,  normal  functions, 
habitual  cheerfulness,  contagious  happiness.  The 
high  school  is  far  more  perilous  than  the  college ; 
and  it  is  at  this  stage  of  their  education  that  girls 
need  most  careful  protection  against  the  combined 
strain  of  severe  mental  work  and  absorbing  social 
interests. 

Of  course  standards  of  attainment  must  be  main- 
tained for  women  as  for  men.  But  beyond  know- 
ing whether  she  has  passed  or  failed  to  pass  the 
minimum  requirement,  no  school  or  college  girl 
ought  to  be  bothered  with  the  knowledge  of  whether 
her  rank  is  high  or  low  in  comparison  with  that 
of  other  boys  and  girls ;  and  she  should  never  be 
tempted  by  the  offer  of  a  prize.  These  spurs,  which 
may  be  necessary  for  indolent  and  conscienceless 
boys,  are  mischievous  and  injurious  when  applied 
to  responsive  and  often  over-ambitious  girls.  No 
trace  of  the  competitive  element  should  enter  into 
the  education  of  girls.  So  far  as  possible  they 
should  be  tested  by  regular  performance  from  day 
to  day,  rather  than  subjected  to  the  strain  of  high- 
pressure  examination  periods  on  which  their  intel- 
lectual fate  is  supposed  to  hang.  A  larger  immu- 
nity from  abstruse  subjects  like  mathematics  should 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  205 

Le  accorded  to  those  who  have  no  taste  for  these 
studies.  They  should  be  encouraged,  wherever  health 
seems  to  require  it,  to  take  a  four  years*  course 
in  five  years  ;  and  they  should  have  greater  free- 
dom as  to  when  to  attend  and  when  not  to  attend 
exercises.  Healthy  and  happy  enjoyment  of  study, 
without  external  stimulus,  and  in  freedom  from 
all  competitive  considerations,  are  the  educational 
ideals  at  which  high  schools  and  colleges  should 
aim  in  their  dealing  with  girls.  Boys  and  girls 
are  very  different,  and  the  methods  of  their  educa- 
tion should  be  different.  What  is  wholesome  medi- 
cine for  one  is  fatal  poison  for  the  other.  In  educa- 
tion as  elsewhere,  now  that  equal  rights  have  been 
won,  differing  ideals  is  the  next  stage  of  advance. 

What,  then,  is  the  womanly  as  distinct  from  the 
manly  ideal  in  scholarship  ?  What  is  the  beneficent 
ordering  of  intellectual  consumption  ?  It  is  the 
appreciation  and  appropriation  of  whatever  is  true 
and  interesting  in  science,  literature,  art,  and  na- 
ture, and  the  interpretation  and  expression  of  these 
things  so  that  they  may  become  interesting  and 
enjoyable  to  others.  Intelligent  conversation,  oral 
reading,  the  rendering  of  music,  certain  forms  of 
art,  dramatic  representation,  discussion  of  social 
questions,  and  especially  the  training  and  teaching 
of  children,  —  these  are  some  of  the  intellectual 
services  an  educated  woman  can  render;  and  in 
many  of  these  woman  is  superior  to  man.    In  cer- 


206  THE  WORTH  OF 

tain  forms  of  story-telling,  character-delineation, 
and  description  women  writers  are  supreme. 

If  this  appropriation  and  transmission  of  the 
treasures  of  truth  and  beauty  is  woman's  distinc- 
tive province ;  if  more  and  more  of  this  high  func- 
tion is  being  given  over  into  woman's  hands,  as  all 
our  statistics  of  teaching  show  that  it  is,  what  in- 
tellectual province  remains  for  men  ? 

A  very  important,  a  very  arduous,  if  less  con- 
spicuous and  less  popular  part  remains,  and  prob- 
ably will  remain  almost  exclusively  in  the  hands 
of  men,  —  the  part  of  productive  scholarship.  By 
productive  scholarship  is  meant  the  power  to  grasp 
as  a  whole  some  great  department  of  human  know- 
ledge ;  keep  abreast  of  every  advance  that  is  made 
in  it ;  from  time  to  time  add  some  contribution  to 
it,  and  above  all  so  vitally  to  incorporate  it,  so 
vigorously  to  react  upon  it,  and  so  systematically 
to  organize  it,  that  the  scholar  puts  his  individual 
stamp  upon  it,  and  compels  whoever  would  master 
the  subject  to  reckon  with  the  individual  form 
which  he  has  given  to  it.  Productive  scholarship 
of  this  high  sort  is  very  rare,  whether  in  men  or 
women.  Its  price  is  very  high,  —  in  time  and 
strength,  in  withdrawal  from  other  interests  and 
concentration  upon  one's  chosen  subject,  in  sacri- 
fice of  domestic  and  social  claims. 

In  these  days  no  one  disputes  the  right  of  women 
to  pursue  this  exacting  ideal  of  productive  scholar- 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  207 

ship,  no  one  denies  that  a  few  very  exceptional 
women  have  succeeded  in  attaining  it :  enough,  in- 
deed, to  supply  our  few  women's  colleges  with  pro- 
fessors who  are  productive  scholars.  This  gift,  rare 
in  men,  is,  however,  far  more  rare  in  women.  Su- 
preme in  acquisition,  unequaled  in  transmission  and 
distribution,  when  it  comes  to  this  distinctively 
creative  act,  this  organizing  of  facts  in  the  light  of 
the  universal  principles  which  bind  them  into  sys- 
tematic unity,  women  as  a  rule  have  far  less  of  this 
essential  of  productive  scholarship  than  men.  The 
very  tendencies  which  make  them  win  more  than 
their  share  of  the  prizes  in  the  high  school  and  the 
receptive  college  courses  become  their  handicap 
when  they  enter  the  graduate  school,  and  still  more 
when  they  attempt  to  compose  music,  or  write 
dramas,  or  produce  scientific  treatises,  or  narrate 
a  nation's  history.  It  is  not  a  defect,  but  it  is  a 
difference.  The  absorption  and  communication  of 
details  as  details  make  woman  as  a  rule  a  better 
teacher  in  the  elementary  grades  of  teaching  than 
man  can  ever  be.  The  grasp  of  underlying  general 
principles  often  unfits  the  productive  scholar  for 
elementary  instruction.  This  differentiation  of  func- 
tion is  a  decree  of  nature,  and  one  which  it  is  use- 
less for  us  to  fight  against,  and  highly  profitable 
for  us  to  recognize,  —  for  nineteen  women  out  of 
every  twenty  who  set  before  themselves  the  ideal 
of  productive  scholarship  will  be  doomed  to  disap- 


208  THE  WORTH  OF 

pointment.  They  will  make  vast  acquisitions,  and 
impart  them  to  others  skillfully  and  effectively; 
only  the  very  exceptional  few  will  achieve  that  or- 
ganic insight,  that  masterly  unification,  which  will 
make  their  contribution  to  the  subject  individual 
and  enduring. 

Still,  while  productive  scholarship  is  so  rare  a 
gift  in  women  that  nothing  less  than  the  most  un- 
mistakable compulsion  of  genius  should  ever  lead 
a  woman  to  stake  her  happiness  and  success  in  life 
on  its  achievement,  some  women  have  this  capacity, 
and  as  we  all  agree  a  perfect  right  to  its  exercise. 
Then  arises  the  further  question.  Can  she  afford  to 
follow  this  ideal,  even  if  there  is  a  prospect  of  suc- 
cess ?  Is  success  worth  achieving,  considering  the 
high  cost  at  which  it  comes  ?  I  am  not  speaking  of 
the  writing  of  stories  and  verses,  and  kindred  forms 
of  serving  up  nature  and  human  experience  for 
agreeable  consumption,  in  which  women  easily  and 
conspicuously  excel.  I  am  speaking  of  strictly  sci- 
entific work.  We  have  already  seen  what  an  ab- 
straction from  life,  what  an  absorption  in  dry  and 
dreary  details,  what  a  withdrawal  from  the  lighter 
and  gayer  sides  of  life  this  usually  involves  for 
men.  Knowing  this  tremendous  cost,  could  you 
wish  it  for  a  daughter  whom  you  love  ?  Can  you 
choose  it  for  any  considerable  nmnber  of  women  ? 
For  my  part,  I  think  not.  It  is  neither  for  the 
happiness  of  individual  women  nor  for  the  welfare 


THE   WOMANLY  IDEAL  209 

of  the  world  that  many  should  set  their  hearts 
upon  productive  scholarship  as  the  goal  of  their 
ambition  or  the  test  of  their  success. 

I  have  in  mind  a  woman  who  received,  on  grad- 
uation from  college,  the  highest  academic  honor 
then  attainable  in  this  country,  became  a  favorite 
pupil  of  learned  German  professors,  and  published 
an  erudite  treatise  on  the  most  out-of-the-way  and 
unprofitable  subject  which  German  ingenuity  could 
set  a  promising  pupil  to  studying.  She  had  every 
prospect  of  distinction  as  a  grammarian  and  philo- 
logist. Suddenly  she  gave  up  all  aspiration  in  this 
direction  with  the  remark,  "  The  price  of  produc- 
tive scholarship  is  one  few  women  can  afford  to 
pay,"  and  entered  heartily  and  enthusiastically  into 
all  womanly  interests  and  social  enjoyments.  She 
felt  that  she  could  do  either  one  of  these  two  things, 
but  could  not  carry  both  together,  and  she  chose 
the  womanly  in  preference  to  the  scholastically 
productive  as  the  better  part.  To  be  sure  she  con- 
tinued to  be  a  imiversity  professor  for  several  years. 
From  a  fairly  intimate  acquaintance  with  her  both 
before  and  after  this  change  in  ideal  and  ambition, 
I  am  confident  that  she  lived  a  vastly  happier  life 
herself,  and  contributed  a  vast  deal  more  that  was 
of  value  to  the  world,  by  this  deliberate  abandon- 
ment of  the  ideal  of  scholarly  production,  and  the 
acceptance  of  the  ideal  of  giving  and  receiving  in- 
tellectual and  social  enjoyment.    Woman  sells  her 


210  THE  WORTH   OF 

birthright  for  a  mess  of  miserable  pottage  when- 
ever she  sacrifices  her  womanly  ideals  of  perfect 
health  for  self  and  offspring,  radiating  happiness 
for  herself  and  her  family  and  friends,  for  aca- 
demic honor,  or  public  fame,  or  social  distinction. 

There  will  always  be  some  scholarly  and  admin- 
istrative work,  some  speaking  on  platforms,  some 
organization  of  clubs,  some  leadership  in  social 
movements  for  women  to  do  ;  and  there  will  always 
be  raised  up  women  who,  while  their  hearts  are  set 
on  higher  and  better  things,  will  do  these  things 
brilliantly  and  effectively,  modestly  confessing  to 
themselves  and  to  their  intimate  friends  that  all 
these  things  are  for  them  merely  a  second  best. 
All  honor  to  these  noble  women  who  do  such  manly 
work  with  no  loss  of  loyalty  to  the  distinctive 
womanly  ideals. 

But  woe  to  the  woman  who  for  an  instant  lets 
herself  suppose  that  these  things  in  themselves 
are  her  supreme  ideals,  who  sighs  for  them  if  she 
has  them  not,  or  is  vain  or  even  contented  if  she 
has  them  alone.  In  scholarship  and  the  public  life 
to  which  scholarship  affords  the  introduction,  man 
and  woman  have  equally  honorable  though  dif- 
ferently specialized  faculties  and  functions  ;  and 
though  in  actual  practice  there  will  be  considerable 
interchange  of  work,  there  never  ought  to  be  the 
slightest  confusion  of  ideals.  Men  must  be  judged 
mainly  by  the  work  they  do,  and  forgiven  for  what 


THE   WOMANLY  IDEAL  211 

they  are  not.  Women  must  be  judged  for  what  they 
are,  and  for  the  happiness  that  radiates  from  their 
presence ;  and  even  when  to  what  they  are  and 
what  they  give  they  add  conspicuous  performance, 
we  shall  continue  to  esteem  them  not  for  the  work 
performed,  but  for  the  love  and  joy  that  shine 
through  their  life  and  work.  Man's  intellectual 
work  is  done  like  the  work  of  a  mill-stream,  by 
conscious  and  deliberate  direction.  Woman's  in- 
tellectual work  is  done  chiefly  like  that  of  the  sun, 
—  by  unconscious  and  unpretentious  radiation. 

In  politics  the  distinction  between  production 
and  consumption  likewise  will  guide  us  to  a  true 
discrimination  between  the  manly  and  the  womanly 
ideal.  No  one  to-day  expects  or  desires  woman  to 
be  a  mere  passive  spectator  of  public  events.  Public 
sentiment  rules  the  Republic;  and  in  the  formsu- 
tion  and  direction  of  public  sentiment  woman  is 
expected  to  do  her  full  share.  On  questions  of 
personal  and  public  morality,  on  all  questions  of 
education,  on  questions  that  affect  the  family,  on 
questions  of  health  and  sanitation,  on  questions 
that  involve  peace  or  war,  on  questions  of  parks 
and  playgrounds,  on  questions  of  child  labor,  on 
questions  of  honest  and  efficient  administration, 
woman's  interest  is  as  great,  and  her  influence  on 
public  sentiment  ought  to  be  as  potent,  as  the  in- 
fluence of  man.  The  woman  who  cares  for  none  of 
these  things  is  unfit  for  the  distinctively  domestic 


212  THE   WORTH  OF 

duties,  unworthy  to  train  the  children  of  the  Re- 
public. 

Because  at  these  and  similar  points  woman  feels 
the  effects  of  good  or  bad  government  more  in- 
tensely; because  she  is  more  sensitive  to  the  suf- 
fering caused  by  bad  measures  and  the  happiness 
insured  by  good  measures  and  good  institutions,  or 
in  other  words,  because  she  is  the  more  appreciative 
and  discriminating  consumer  of  the  benefits  which 
good  government  confers,  her  intelligent  interest  in 
these  matters,  her  honest  praise,  her  frank  criticism, 
her  individual  and  collective  expression  of  judgment, 
are  most  welcome  and  valuable  additions  to  the 
forces  which  make  for  good  government  and  free 
institutions.  When  in  social  settlements  she  comes 
into  close  first-hand  contact  with  the  darker  side  of 
our  civilization,  then  she  speaks  with  an  authority 
on  certain  aspects  of  the  social  problem  which  men, 
if  they  are  wise,  must  implicitly  obey. 

More  important  than  all  this,  however,  is  the 
service  which  modest,  unassuming  women  render 
in  their  families  and  homes,  by  making  home  so 
sweet  a  place,  famUy  ties  so  dear  a  bond,  that  they 
give  to  country  its  tenderest  associations  and  its 
most  priceless  worth  ;  so  that  men  count  it  a  glo- 
rious privilege  to  serve  and  labor,  and  live  and  die 
to  upbuild  and  defend  their  native  land.  If  men 
furnish  the  power  by  which,  women  contribute  the 
ends  for  which,  the  country  is  maintained.  Though 


THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL  213 

of  a  different  order,  these  quiet,  silent,  modest  ser- 
vices of  women  are  no  less  vital  and  no  less  honor- 
able than  the  services  of  men  in  legislative  haUs  or 
on  the  field  of  battle. 

On  the  other  hand,  political  production,  the 
formulation  of  public  policy,  the  enactment  and 
enforcement  of  law,  the  administration  of  the 
machinery  of  government,  the  conduct  of  diplo- 
macy and  war,  the  imposition  of  taxes  and  the 
appropriation  of  revenue,  the  appointment  and 
direction  of  the  vast  army  of  employees  in  the  civil 
service  is  best  left  in  the  hands  of  men.  For  all 
this  is  simply  business  on  a  grand  scale,  compli- 
cated, however,  by  the  corruption  of  spoilsmen,  the 
heat  of  party  strife,  the  vicious  notion  that  getting 
something  for  nothing  out  of  the  public  is  not  quite 
the  same  thing  as  stealing  from  one's  neighbor. 

All  this  is  rough  work.  To  accomplish  the  ideal 
is  out  of  the  question.  The  best  one  can  do  is  to 
aim  at  justice,  and  get  as  much  of  it  accomplished 
as  the  men  one  has  to  deal  with  and  the  conditions 
under  which  one  has  to  work  will  permit.  Mistakes 
are  unavoidable,  compromises  are  inevitable,  asso- 
ciation with  corrupt  and  dishonest  men  unescapable. 

Now  the  plain  fact  is  that  men  can  bring  a  fairly 
decent  order  out  of  this  moral  chaos,  and  they  can 
do  it  without  serious  impairment  of  their  personal 
character.  Between  standing  out  for  an  impossible 
abstract  perfection,  on  the  one  hand,  and  letting 


214  THE  WORTH  OF 

evil  go  unhindered  and  unpunished,  men  know  how 
to  steer  a  middle  course  which  gives  good  govern- 
ment and  just  laws  on  the  whole,  and  puts  a  limit 
if  not  an  end  to  fraud  and  corruption. 

Women  as  a  rule,  by  the  very  fineness  of  their 
nature,  the  sharpness  of  their  moral  distinctions, 
the  uncompromising  character  of  their  personal 
likes  and  dislikes,  are  unfitted  for  this  task  of  get- 
ting the  best  that  is  practically  attainable  out  of 
conditions  where  abstract  insistence  on  the  ideal 
best  often  only  amounts  to  practical  surrender  to 
the  actual  worst.  I  should  admit  rare  exceptions 
here  as  everywhere.  But  not  one  woman  in  ten 
thousand  is  by  nature  fitted  to  enter  this  arena 
without  either  injury  to  the  public  or  else  harden- 
ing and  deterioration  for  herself. 

The  separation  of  production  and  consumption 
- —  of  efficient  cause  by  which  and  of  final  cause  for 
which  the  Kepublic  is  maintained  —  is  grounded 
in  an  eternal  distinction  of  nature  which  runs  in- 
finitely deeper  than  any  question  of  merely  formal 
right.  The  arrangement  by  which  women  mould 
sentiment,  and  men  cast  and  count  the  ballots  that 
register  it,  by  which  men  make  laws  and  women 
inspire  the  loyalty  and  self-control  that  obeys  them, 
by  which  women  give  to  institutions  a  sacredness 
which  makes  men  glad  to  lay  down  their  lives  in 
their  defense,  is  a  wise  and  beneficent  arrangement ; 
and  any  tinkering  of  men  or  meddling  of  women 


THE   WOMANLY  IDEAL  216 

to  bring  about  a  change  or  confusion  of  these  func- 
tions will  involve  a  weakening  of  men  and  a  coars- 
ening of  women,  and  tend  toward  the  deterioration 
of  society  and  the  downfall  of  the  state. 

In  politics,  as  in  business  and  scholarship,  the 
question  is  not  one  of  abstract  rights.  The  only- 
foundation  of  right  is  the  good.  If  women  would 
be  happier,  and  make  happier  homes,  if  they  could 
contribute  a  refining  influence  to  politics  without 
becoming  themselves  coarsened  and  hardened  by 
dwelling  in  the  atmosphere  of  selfishness  and  strife, 
if  unrestricted  participation  in  politics  was  what  any 
considerable  number  of  sane  women  wanted  for 
themselves,  or  any  sane  men  wanted  for  their  wives 
and  sisters  and  daughters,  of  course  they  could  have 
it  for  the  asking.  But  the  work  to  be  done,  the 
conditions  under  which  it  must  be  done,  are  so  for- 
eign to  the  true  feminine  ideal,  and  the  feminine 
ideal  is  of  so  much  more  value  to  the  country  and 
to  the  world  than  any  poor,  ineffectual  attempt  to 
imitate  the  masculine  ideal  ever  could  be,  that  we 
may  confidently  trust  that  the  day  when  women  will 
desert  the  feminine  for  the  masculine  contribution 
to  the  pohtical  life  of  the  country  is  put  farther  off 
by  every  attempted  agitation  in  its  behalf.  The 
more  woman's  true  contribution  to  national  preserva- 
tion, national  integrity,  and  national  honor  is  rightly 
appreciated,  the  more  all  sane  men  and  wise  women 
will  unite  in  the  determination  that  it  shall  never 


216  THE  WORTH   OF 

be  abandoned  or  exchanged  for  the  slight  and  dubi- 
ous addition  she  might  make  to  political  legislation 
and  administration.  The  more  we  respect  and  honor 
woman,  the  more  we  shall  understand  that  she  al- 
ready has  what,  if  a  different,  is  a  coordinate  part 
and  privilege  in  determining  the  character  and  des- 
tiny of  the  Republic. 

The  masculine  and  the  feminine  ideals  are  equally 
precious;  and  we  respect  and  preserve  their  pre- 
ciousness,  not  by  merging  them  into  a  neutral  and 
colorless  identity,  but  by  emphasizing  to  the  utmost 
the  deep  distinctions  between  them.  You  confer  no 
favor  upon  two  mountains  by  filling  up  the  valley 
between  them,  but  rather  reduce  them  both  to  the 
dead  level  of  a  monotonous  and  uninteresting  table- 
land. In  industry  and  education,  in  politics  and  in 
religion,  our  aim  henceforth  should  be  not  toward 
a  stupid  equality,  with  interchange  of  imitated  func- 
tions, but  toward  differentiation,  —  giving  as  far  as 
possible  the  direction  and  control  of  economic  pro- 
duction to  strong  and  forceful  men,  and  the  super- 
intendence and  ministry  of  consumption  to  wise  and 
gentle  women ;  giving  for  the  most  part  the  hard, 
dry  task  of  scholarly  investigation  and  formulation 
to  the  absorbing  and  protracted  toil  of  men,  and 
the  appreciation  of  results  and  the  impartation  of 
established  knowledge  to  the  quick  wits  of  women  ; 
giving  the  strife  and  turmoil,  the  compromise  and 
diplomacy  of  politics  to  the  firm  will  and  sound 


THE   WOMANLY  IDEAL  217 

judgment  of  men,  and  the  things  that  make  a 
country  worth  living  and  dying  for  to  the  warm 
hearts  of  our  women. 

f  Still  though  thus  clearly  distinguishable,  like  the 
convex  and  concave  aspects  of  our  curve,  these  two 
are  inseparable.  Each  requires  the  grafting  upon  it 
of  the  virtues  of  the  other  to  make  itseK  complete. 
When  we  are  once  assured  that  the  boy  is  strong, 
sturdy,  brave,  resolute,  a  hard  worker,  a  fierce 
fighter,  a  close  thinker,  a  clear  reasoner,  then  the 
more  aesthetic  gi*ace  and  social  charm  he  inherits 
from  his  mother,  or  borrows  from  his  own  or  other 
people's  sisters,  the  better.  But  after  all  we  really 
weigh  and  measure  him  in  terms  of  the  manly 
ideal;  and  no  adventitious  feminine  accomplish- 
ments can  save  him  from  our  contempt,  if  he  has 
given  in  exchange  for  them  aught  of  masculine 
ruggedness  and  manly  power  to  make  his  wiU  effec- 
tive in  the  hard  world  of  stubborn  physical  facts 
and  hostile  human  forces. 

(Precisely  so,  when  once  we  are  assured  that  the 
woman  holds  the  womanly  ideals  of  modest  ministry, 
generous  sympathy,  unselfish  service  and  unnoted 
sacrifice  closest  to  her  heart,  then  we  are  glad  if 
to  these  she  adds  business  efficiency,  scholarly  at- 
tainments, public  influence.  All  we  insist  upon  is 
simply  this:  that  as  the  manly  ideal  is  so  essential 
to  man  that  in  comparison  with  it  for  him  all  fem- 
inine graces  and  embellishments  are  but  as  the  dust 


218    WORTH  OF  THE  WOMANLY  IDEAL 

in  the  balance,  so  for  woman  the  womanly  ideal  is 
the  one  thing  needful ;  and  however  much  she  may 
add  to  it  in  the  way  of  masculine  achievement,  the 
womanly  ideal  remains  to  the  end  the  only  and  all- 
sufficient  condition  of  her  real  happiness  and  her 
highest  usefulness ;  her  unique  ar  i  supreme  claim 
to  personal  friendship  and  affection,  to  social  con- 
sideration and  esteem.  So  precious  to  woman  her- 
self, so  priceless  to  the  world,  is  the  inalienable 
worth  of  the  womanly  ideaL\  y 


XI 

The  Earnings  of  College  Graduates 

THE  value  of  a  college  education  cannot  be 
measured  in  money.  No  graduate  would  give 
up  what  his  college  education  has  done  for  him,  if 
offered  two  or  three  times  his  present  remunera- 
tion in  exchange.  To  do  so  would  be  selling  a  large 
part  of  his  soul.  Neither  does  any  worthy  grad- 
uate select  his  vocation  mainly  with  a  view  to  the 
remuneration  it  will  bring.  He  chooses  the  voca- 
tion which  appeals  to  his  capacity  and  interest. 

Still  the  pecuniary  aspects  of  college  education" 
and  professional  success  are  interesting,  and  may 
serve  to  reassure  persons  who  for  themselves  or  their 
children  choose  college  and  vocation  on  higher 
grounds.  I  have  asked  such  of  the  graduates  of 
Bowdoin  College  as  were  willing  to  do  so  to  give 
me  their  annual  earnings,  their  class,  and  their  vo- 
cation. Of  those  who  are  engaged  in  remunerative 
employment  774,  which  is  about  half  the  number 
of  graduates  in  such  employment,  have  replied. 
The  replies  give  earnings,  not  income,  —  which 
in  most  cases  would  be  considerably  more.  Those 
whose  earnings  are  largest,  for  obvious  reasons  were 
most  reluctant  to  reply.  Although  several  are  earn- 
ing more  than  117,000,  none  who  were  earning 


220  THE  EARNINGS  OF 

more  than  that  amount  replied.  In  the  case  of 
journalism  the  number  engaged  in  that  profession 
is  too  small  to  make  the  returns  valuable  ;  and  the 
fact  that  there  are  two  or  three  exceptionally  suc- 
cessful editors  in  this  smaU  number  gives  to  the 
results  in  that  profession  a  more  optimistic  aspect 
than  wider  induction  would  confirm.  While  returns 
from  haK  the  graduates  of  a  single  college  are  not 
conclusive,  yet  in  a  general  way  they  indicate  the 
pecuniary  value  of  a  coUege  education,  and  the 
relative  remuneration  to  be  obtained  in  different 
professions. 

The  table  gives  the  result  classified  by  decades, 
and  also  by  vocations.  Vocations  represented  by 
not  more  than  ten  persons,  like  civil  engineering 
and  farming,  are  classified  as  miscellaneous.  Since 
the  first  ten  years  are  hardly  a  fair  test,  I  have 
added  to  the  averages  for  each  decade,  and  for  the 
total  period,  the  average  for  those  who  have  been 
out  of  college  more  than  ten  years.  This  latter 
average  is  the  most  instructive.  It  shows  that,  after 
the  first  ten  years,  medicine  leads,  with  an  average 
remuneration  of  $4687.  Law  comes  second,  with 
$4577.  Journalism  third  (though  as  explained  this 
is  probably  misleading),  with  f4271.  Business 
fourth,  with  13790.  Banking  fifth,  with  13718. 
Government  Employment  sixth,  with  $3230. 
Miscellaneous  pursuits  seventh,  with  $2867.  Ed- 
ucation eighth,  with  $2258.    The  Ministry  ninth 


COLLEGE  GRADUATES 


221 


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222    EARNINGS  OF  COLLEGE  GRADUATES 

and  last,  with  $1559.  (.The  average  earnings  of  the 
493  persons  reporting  who  have  been  out  of  college 
more  than  ten  years  is  $3356. 

Medicine  is  the  profession  in  which  one  may 
acquire  considerable  earning  power  most  quickly, 
though  the  earning  capacity  of  the  lawyer  holds  out 
better  in  the  later  years. 

In  law,  medicine,  journalism,  business,  and  mis- 
cellaneous pursuits  the  best  period  is  from  thirty  to 
forty  years  out  of  coUege  ;  that  is,  between  the  ages 
of  fifty  and  sixty.  In  the  ministry,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  period,  with  the  exception  of  the  first 
and  last  years,  is  least  remunerative  of  all. 

While  in  the  earlier  years  the  college  graduate 

I,  like  other  people,  a  hard  struggle  financially, 
earning  on  an  average  only  $1312  during  the  first 
ten  years  ;  yet  after  that  time  he  earns  much  more 
than  the  average  man  of  good  heredity  and  good 
'^opportunities  who  has  not  had  a  college  education, 
land  his  earning  power  holds  out  well  through  life.*S 


XII 

A  Great  College  President 

CONSIDERED  merely  as  a  literary  product, 
the  collected  educational  addresses  of  Presi- 
dent Eliot,  published  in  book  form,  are  in  no  wise 
remarkable.  The  unit  of  his  style  is  the  word ; 
that  is  always  exact,  always  weighty.  Hence  in 
inscriptions  and  characterizations  where  heroic 
achievements  are  cast  into  a  sentence  or  a  scholarly 
career  is  coined  into  a  phrase,  he  is  incomparable. 
In  "  Educational  Reform  "  there  is  an  occasional  gem 
like  this  :  "  Two  kinds  of  men  make  good  teachers, 
—  young  men  and  men  who  never  grow  old."  For 
the  most  part,  however,  we  get  plain  truths  plainly 
stated,  with  little  of  that  magic  power  to  light  up 
present  facts  with  glowing  reminiscences  of  kindred 
facts  and  fancies  drawn  from  far-off  lands  and  days, 
and  to  set  the  sentences  to  throbbing  in  rhythmic 
sympathy  with  the  pulsations  of  the  thought,  which 
makes  literary  form  as  precious  as  the  substance 
it  conveys.  Nor  is  the  sum  total  of  ideas  set  forth 
so  very  great.  One  who  undertakes  to  read  the  col- 
lection through  consecutively  is  soon  reminded  of 
the  jury  lawyer's  remark,  "  Reiteration  is  the  only 
effective  figure  of  speech." 

Nevertheless,  this  book  marks  with  absolute  pre- 


224     A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

cision  our  one  great  educational  epoch.  For  the 
author  is  no  mere  essayist  or  orator.  As  we  flock 
to  hear  Nansen's  lectures,  not  for  their  literary 
charm  or  the  range  of  new  information  they  con- 
vey, but  because  we  want  to  see  the  man  who  flung 
his  ideas  in  the  face  of  incredulous  geographical 
societies,  and  built  them  into  the  Fram,  and  froze 
them  into  the  ice  floe,  and  drifted  on  them  month 
after  month,  and  drove  them  into  his  dogs  in  that 
last  desperate  dash  for  the  pole,  —  so  here  we  see 
the  man  who  for  thirty  critical  years,  as  prime 
minister  of  our  educational  realm,  has  defied  pre- 
judice, conquered  obstacles,  lived  down  opposition, 
and  reorganized  our  entire  educational  system  from 
top  to  bottom.  As  Wordsworth  said  of  his  French 
revolutionary  friend,  Beaupuis,  we  feel  that  our 
educational  institutions  are 

standing  on  the  brink 
Of  some  great  trial,  and  we  bear  the  voice 
Of  one  devoted,  one  wbom  circumstance 
Hath  called  upon  to  embody  his  deep  sense 
In  action,  give  it  outwardly  a  shape, 
And  that  of  benediction,  to  the  world. 

The  one  supremely  eloquent  feature  of  these 
essays  and  addresses  is  the  dates  they  bear.  To 
appreciate  their  significance,  it  is  necessary  to  re- 
call briefly  educational  history  since  he  became 
President  of  Harvard.  Our  first  witness  shall  be 
the  Harvard   Catalogue   for   the  year   1869-70. 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      225 

Tbere  is  a  single  set  of  requirements  for  admis- 
sion :  the  traditional  Latin,  Greek,  and  mathema- 
tics, with  so  much  ancient  history  as,  in  the  words 
of  the  President,  "a  clever  boy  could  commit  to 
memory  in  three  or  four  days."  Though  some  dozen 
electives  are  offered  in  each  of  the  last  three  years, 
yet  the  backbone  of  the  curriculum  consists  of 
prescribed  studies^  supposed  to  be  equally  essential 
and  profitable  for  all.  Among  the  many  things 
required  of  Freshmen  are  Champlin's  "  First  Prin- 
ciples of  Ethics  "  and  Bulfinch's  "  Evidences  of 
Christianity."  "The  Student's  Gibbon,  about 
twenty  selected  chapters,"  "  Stewart's  Philosophy 
of  the  Mind,  about  350  pages,"  and  "  Cooke's 
Chemical  Philosophy,  about  180  pages,"  are  among 
the  half-dozen  things  all  Sophomores  are  compelled 
to  learn.  "Bowen's  Logic,  313  pages,  Reid's 
Essays  (selections),  Hamilton's  Metaphysics,  300 
pages,  and  Lardner's  Optics,  chapters  i-vii,  xiii, 
and  portions  of  chapter  xiv,"  are  required  of  all 
Juniors.  Li  the  first  term  of  Senior  year  the  re- 
quirements are,  "  Philosophy,  Bowen's  Ethics  and 
Metaphysics,  Bowen's  Political  Economy,  Modem 
History,  Guizot's  and  Arnold's  Lectures,  Story's 
Abridged  Commentaries  on  the  Constitution ; " 
and  in  the  second  term,  "  History,  Hallam's  Middle 
Ages,  one  volume,  Religious  Instruction,  Political 
Economy,  Bowen's  finished."  It  is  not  so  much 
the  extent  as  the  nature  of  these  requirements  — 


226  A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

the  large  place  given  to  metaphysics,  and  that  of 
a  single  school  in  dogmatic  form,  finally  narrowed 
down  to  the  single  learned  author  in  charge  of  the 
department ;  the  specification  of  the  precise  num- 
ber of  pages  and  fractions  of  a  chapter ;  the  fact 
that  instruction  in  science  is  primarily  concerned 
with  pages  and  chapters  anyway ;  and  the  notion 
that  whether  in  one  book  or  many  a  subject  like 
political  economy  can  be  "  finished  "  —  that  makes 
us  rub  our  eyes  and  look  twice  at  the  title-page,  to 
see  if  this  indeed  can  be  a  catalogue  of  Harvard 
under  President  Eliot. 

Against  this  hide-bound  uniformity,  this  dead 
prescription,  this  dogmatism  of  second-rate  minds, 
this  heterogeneous  aggregate  of  unrelated  frag- 
ments of  instruction,  elementary  from  beginning  to 
end,  by  which,  as  he  says,  "  the  managers  of  Amer- 
ican colleges  have  made  it  impossible  for  the  stu- 
dent to  get  a  thorough  knowledge  of  any  subject 
whatever,"  the  young  President  hurled  his  ideas  of 
liberty  in  the  choice  of  studies ;  absolute  freedom 
of  investigation  in  teacher  and  taught;  science  by 
first-hand  observation  and  fresh  experiment  and 
careful  induction ;  philosophy  and  religion  by  can- 
did criticism  of  all  proposed  solutions  of  the  prob- 
lems of  the  spiritual  life ;  the  supreme  worth  of 
the  differences  of  individuals  from  one  another  in 
aptitude  for  acquisition  and  capacity  for  service. 
This,  which  has  been  one  of  his  greatest  contri- 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      227 

butions  to  education,  was  not  so  hard  a  task  to 
accomplish  at  Harvard  as  it  would  have  been  else- 
where ;  for  a  respectable  beginning  had  already 
been  made,  and  the  needed  funds  for  its  develop- 
ment were  forthcoming;  yet  it  was  not  without 
hard  and  steady  fighting  for  each  inch  of  ground 
that  the  principle  was  finally  established  through- 
out the  college,  when  the  Freshman  work  became 
largely  elective  in  1884.  The  triumph  of  the  prin- 
ciple in  the  matter  of  requirements  for  admission, 
with  all  the  added  reality  and  life  that  it  brings  to 
secondary  instruction,  did  not  find  complete  accept- 
ance with  the  faculty  until  1897. 

In  the  meantime  President  Eliot  was  fighting 
the  same  battle  in  behalf  of  the  colleges  of  the 
country  at  large.  Though  wielding  the  enormous 
power  and  resources  of  Harvard  with  tremendous 
vigor,  and  making  every  move  redound  to  her  glory 
and  advantage,  he  has  ever  had  the  most  generous 
desire  that  others  should  share  in  whatever  good 
thing  Harvard  has  wrought  out.  Doubtless  his 
mode  of  tendering  his  assistance  has  been  open  to 
misunderstanding  on  the  part  of  those  who  did  not 
know  the  man.  Year  after  year,  from  1870  down 
to  1888,  he  went  into  the  Association  of  New  Eng- 
land Colleges,  pointing  out  to  the  representatives 
of  sister  institutions  the  defects  of  prescription  and 
the  blessings  of  freedom.  A  single  specimen  of 
the  frankness  he  was  wont  to  exercise  in  the  pre- 


228     A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

sentation  of  this  theme  is  preserved  in  an  essay 
now  reprinted  from  the  "  Century  Magazine  "  for 
1884,  in  which  he  says  :  "  No  knowledge  of  either 
French  or  German  is  required  for  admission  to 
Yale  College,  and  no  instruction  is  provided  in 
either  language  before  the  beginning  of  the  Junior 
year.  In  other  words,  Yale  College  does  not  sug- 
gest that  the  preparatory  schools  ought  to  teach 
either  French  or  German,  does  not  give  its  stu- 
dents the  opportunity  of  acquiring  these  languages 
in  season  to  use  them  in  other  studies,  and  does 
not  offer  them  any  adequate  opportunity  of  be- 
coming acquainted  with  the  literature  of  either 
language  before  they  take  the  Bachelor's  degree. 
Could  we  have  stronger  evidence  than  this  of  the 
degraded  condition  of  French  and  German  in  the 
mass  of  our  schools  and  colleges  ? "  Inasmuch  as 
men  like  President  Porter  and  President  Seelye 
were  not  always  able  to  appreciate  the  disinter- 
ested devotion  to  the  true  welfare  of  their  respec- 
tive institutions  which  President  Eliot  was  wont 
thus  to  manifest  on  aU  occasions,  the  meetings 
of  the  Association  of  New  England  Colleges  were 
often  quite  animated,  in  the  days  when  this  reform 
was  being  extended  from  Harvard  to  her  sister  in- 
stitutions. To  these  meetings  he  has  always  come 
early,  and  he  has  stayed  late ;  bringing  with  him 
definite  topics  for  discussion,  and  urging  his  asso- 
ciates to  some  positive  educational  advance.    In 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT  229 

1894  he  urged  in  the  Association,  and  later  re- 
peatedly elsewhere,  the  establishment  of  a  common 
board  of  examiners  which  should  hold  examinations 
at  two  or  three  hundred  points  throughout  the 
United  States,  and  whose  certificates  should  be 
accepted  by  all  the  cooperating  institutions.  Al- 
though a  large  number  is  desirable  for  such  coop- 
eration, he  proposed  to  start  with  five  colleges  be- 
sides his  own.  And  yet  not  five  institutions  could  be 
found  sufficiently  ready  to  cooperate  in  such  a  vital 
and  far-reaching  scheme  for  elevating  secondary 
education  throughout  the  country,  and  saving  us 
from  the  Dead  Sea  of  superficiality.  So  very  rare, 
even  in  educational  institutions,  is  the  disposition 
to  put  the  interests  of  the  community  first,  and 
to  find  the  true  interest  of  a  particular  college 
in  generous  devotion  to  these  objective  ends,  that 
even  the  disinterestedness  of  this  measure  was  sus- 
pected in  quarters  which  ought  to  have  been  above 
the  capacity  for  such  suspicion. 

At  the  very  first  President  Eliot  took  in  hand 
the  improvement  of  professional  training.  In  1869 
he  found  the  Medical  School  little  more  than  an  ir- 
responsible commercial  venture.  There  were  no  re- 
quirements for  admission  ;  attendance  was  required 
for  two  courses  of  lectures  only,  brief  in  themselves, 
and  still  farther  abbreviated  by  the  failure  of  the 
great  majority  of  students  to  attend  during  the 
summer  term.    A  student  who  passed  successfully 


230      A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

five  out  of  nine  oral  examinations,  of  a  few  min- 
utes' duration  each,  received  a  diploma;  although 
as  came  out  in  the  discussion  of  this  matter  in  the 
Board  of  Overseers,  he  might  not  know  the  limit  of 
safety  in  the  administration  of  morphine,  and  one 
had  actually  killed  two  early  patients  in  conse- 
quence. As  the  President  says,  "  Under  this  system 
young  men  might  receive  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Medicine  who  had  had  no  academic  training  what- 
ever, and  who  were  ignorant  of  four  out  of  nine 
fundamental  subjects."  At  his  suggestion,  the  finan- 
cial administration  of  the  school  was  placed  at  once 
in  the  hands  of  the  treasurer  of  the  imiversity  ;  the 
course  of  instruction  was  extended  to  three  years 
of  two  equal  terms  at  which  attendance  was  required ; 
the  course  was  made  progressive  throughout  the 
three  years ;  laboratory  work  was  added  to  the 
didactic  lectures ;  and  written  examinations  were 
distributed  through  the  three  years,  all  of  which 
each  student  was  required  to  pass.  By  1874  the 
students  were  divided  into  three  classes,  with 
rigid  requirements  for  promotion.  In  1877  physics 
and  Latin  were  required  for  admission.  To  these 
requirements  additions  have  repeatedly  been  made  ; 
so  that  now  candidates  must  present  a  degree  from 
a  reputable  college  or  scientific  school  unless  ad- 
mitted by  special  vote  of  the  faculty  in  each  case. 
In  1892  the  course  was  extended  to  four  years. 
Since  1888  the  elective  principle  has  been  recog- 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT     231 

nized  in  tbe  latter  part  of  the  course.  President 
Eliot's  influence  has  done  much  to  raise  the  pro- 
fession of  medicine  from  the  refuge  of  "unculti- 
vated men,  with  scanty  knowledge  of  medicine  or 
of  surgery,"  to  a  position  in  which  it  is  fully  wor- 
thy of  his  high  tribute  when  he  says,  "  It  offers 
to  young  men  the  largest  opportunities  for  disin- 
terested, devoted,  and  heroic  service." 

The  Harvard  Law  School  in  1869  was  another 
illustration  of  the  remark  which  President  Eliot 
made  in  an  address  at  the  inauguration  of  President 
Gilraan :  "  During  the  past  forty  years  the  rules 
which  governed  admission  to  the  honorable  and 
learned  professions  of  law  and  medicine  have  been 
carelessly  relaxed,  and  we  are  now  suffering  great 
losses  and  injuries,  both  material  and  moral,  in  con- 
sequence." Dean  LangdeU  describes  the  condition 
as  follows  :  "  In  respect  to  instruction  there  was  no 
division  of  the  school  into  classes,  but  with  a  single 
exception  all  the  instruction  given  was  intended  for 
the  whole  school.  There  never  had  been  any  at- 
tempt by  means  of  legislation  to  raise  the  standard 
of  education  at  the  school,  nor  to  discriminate  be- 
tween the  capable  and  the  incapable,  the  diligent 
and  the  idle.  It  had  always  been  deemed  a  prime 
object  to  attract  students  to  the  school,  and  with 
that  view  as  little  as  possible  was  required  of  them. 
Students  were  admitted  without  any  evidence  of 
academic  acquirements ;  and  they  were  sent  out 


232     A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

from  it,  with  a  degree,  without  any  evidence  of  legal 
acquirements.  The  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Laws 
was  conferred  solely  upon  evidence  that  the  stu- 
dent had  been  nominally  a  member  of  the  school 
for  a  certain  length  of  time  and  had  paid  his  tui- 
tion fees,  the  longest  time  being  one  and  a  half 
years."  At  once  a  new  course  was  established,  and 
an  examination  was  held  for  the  degree.  Early  in 
the  next  academic  year  the  first  recorded  faculty 
meeting  was  held ;  and  of  the  198  meetings  regu- 
larly held  during  the  succeeding  twenty-four  years, 
the  President  of  the  university  presided  at  all  but 
five.  In  1877  the  coarse  of  study  was  extended  to 
three  years,  and  the  tuition  fee  was  raised  to  $150. 
Since  1896  only  graduates  of  approved  colleges 
have  been  admitted  as  candidates  for  the  degree. 

The  Divinity  School  in  1869  was  a  feeble  insti- 
tution, to  which  only  six  pages  were  assigned  in  the 
university  catalogue ;  requiring  no  academic  prepa- 
ration beyond  "  a  knowlege  of  the  branches  of  ed- 
ucation commonly  taught  in  the  best  academies  and 
high  schools."  Only  five  of  the  thirty-six  students 
had  received  a  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  or  Mas- 
ter of  Arts,  whereas  six  needy  persons  who  were 
recipients  of  such  degrees  could  have  1350  apiece 
each  year  for  the  asking  ;  and  a  fund  yielding  from 
$150  to  $200  apiece  was  divided  among  all  appli- 
cants in  the  regular  or  partial  course,  regardless  of 
ability  or  scholarship.   The  five  professors  were  all 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      233 

adherents  of  a  single  sect.  President  Eliot  from 
the  first  contended  that  "  the  gratuitous  character 
of  the  ordinary  theological  training  supplied  by 
denominational  seminaries  is  an  injury  to  the  Pro- 
testant ministry.  It  would  be  better  for  the  pro- 
fession, on  the  whole,  if  no  young  men  could  get 
into  it  except  those  whose  parents  are  able  to  sup- 
port them,  and  those  who  have  capacity  and  energy 
enough  to  earn  their  own  way.  These  tests  consti- 
tute a  natural  method  of  selection,  which  has  long 
been  applied  in  the  other  learned  professions  to 
their  great  advantage.  Exceptions  should  be  made 
in  favor  of  needy  young  men  of  decided  merit  and 
promise,  to  whom  scholarships  should  be  awarded 
on  satisfactory  tests  of  ability  and  character."  Ac- 
cordingly, in  the  year  1872-73  the  promiscuous 
distribution  of  aid  to  aU  applicants  in  equal  parts 
was  stopped,  and  scholarships  were  established  in 
its  place.  In  order  that  "  the  mendicant  element 
in  theological  education  might  be  completely  elimi- 
nated, and  the  Protestant  ministry  put  on  a  thor- 
oughly respectable  footing  in  modern  society,"  the 
President  recommended  in  1890  that  the  tuition 
fee  be  raised  to  the  same  amount  as  in  other  de- 
partments of  the  university.  After  much  doubt  and 
misgiving  on  the  part  of  the  friends  of  the  school, 
this  bold  step  was  taken  in  1897.  Since  1882  a 
coUege  education  or  its  equivalent  has  been  required 
of  candidates  for  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Divinity, 


234  A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

The  President  has  always  been  the  earnest  advo- 
cate of  absolute  freedom  in  theological  study.  In  his 
essay  On  the  Education  of  Ministers,  he  commends 
the  scientific  spirit  in  these  terms :  "  This  spirit 
seeks  only  the  fact,  without  the  slightest  regard  to 
consequences  ;  any  twisting  or  obscuring  of  the  fact 
to  accommodate  it  to  a  preconceived  theory,  hope, 
or  wish,  any  tampering  with  the  actual  result  of 
investigation,  is  the  unpardonable  sin.  It  is  a  spirit 
at  once  humble  and  dauntless,  patient  of  details, 
passionless  but  energetic,  venturing  into  pathless 
wastes  to  bring  back  a  fact,  caring  only  for  truth, 
candid  as  a  stiU  lake,  expectant,  unfettered,  and 
tireless."  All  this,  and  much  more  to  the  same  ef- 
fect, is  admirable,  and  highly  needed  as  a  prophy- 
lactic against  what  he  calls  "  the  terrible  stress  of 
temptation  to  intellectual  dishonesty"  which  besets 
the  clerical  profession.  Yet  when,  as  in  his  report 
for  1877-78  he  went  so  far  as  to  say,  "  The  vari- 
ous philosophical  theories  and  religious  beliefs  should 
be  studied  before,  and  not  after,  any  of  them  are 
embraced,"  he  fell  into  a  one-sided  intellectualism 
which  gave  some  occasion  for  the  widespread  dis- 
trust of  Harvard's  religious  leadership  that  prevailed 
twenty-five  years  ago.  Intimate  acquaintance  with 
him,  however,  is  pretty  sure  to  convince  one  of  the 
truth  of  the  remark  which  President  Tucker  once 
made,  speaking  of  persons  engaged  in  coUege  work, 
"  President  Eliot  is  the  most  religious  man  among 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT     235 

us."  His  earnest  efforts  in  establishing  the  present 
system  of  religious  worship  at  Harvard,  together 
with  the  influence  of  the  philosophical  professors 
in  their  doctrines  of  the  glory  of  the  imperfect, 
the  world  of  description  and  the  world  of  appre- 
ciation, and  the  will  to  believe,  have  done  much 
to  correct  the  earlier  tendency,  and  to  reestablish 
Harvard  in  the  confidence  of  the  community,  as  a 
centre  of  virtue  and  piety  as  well  as  of  learning 
and  research. 

President  Eliot  is  a  Unitarian,  and  glories  in 
the  critical  candor  and  intellectual  honesty  of 
which,  until  quite  recently,  that  denomination  had 
held  too  nearly  a  monopoly.  Yet  he  is  too  broad 
and  fair-minded  to  think  for  an  instant  of  leaving 
the  theological  department  or  the  religious  life  of 
a  great  national  university  in  the  hands  of  a  sin- 
gle sect,  least  of  all  in  the  hands  of  a  sect  which 
represents  but  one  tenth  of  one  per  cent  of  the 
nation's  population.  Under  his  administration  the 
Divinity  School  has  become  unsectarian  in  reality, 
as  it  always  was  in  name. 

The  condition  of  graduate  work  at  Harvard  in 
1869  can  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  the  degree 
of  Master  of  Arts  was  given  to  all  graduates  of 
three  years'  standing  and  of  good  moral  charac- 
ter on  payment  of  five  dollars ;  and  no  other  de- 
gree beyond  the  Bachelor's  was  offered.  The  new 
President  at  once  gave  notice  that  the  granting  of 


236      A  GREAT   COLLEGE   PRESIDENT 

Master's  degrees  on  these  easy  terms  would  cease 
in  1872.  After  a  year  or  two  of  fruitless  experi- 
mentation with  "  university  lectures,"  in  1872  the 
degrees  of  Master  of  Arts,  Doctor  of  Science,  and 
Doctor  of  Philosophy  were  offered  on  definite  and 
exacting  terms.  In  his  report  for  1876-77  we  find 
the  President  quietly  dropping  the  remark  that, 
"  for  a  few  years  to  come,  it  is  to  the  improvement 
of  this  department  of  the  university  that  the  at- 
tention of  the  governing  boards  may  be  most  pro- 
fitably directed."  As  a  result  of  that  profitably 
directed  attention.  Harvard  performed  successfully 
the  arduous  and  delicate  task  of  rearing  a  great 
graduate  school  on  the  broad  foundation  of  under- 
graduate work,  without  injury,  but  with  positive 
inspiration  and  elevation  to  the  latter.  It  was  the 
surplus  intellectual  resources  accumulated  under 
the  elective  system  which  made  possible  that  un- 
precedented educational  feat.  The  graduate  school 
has  never  resorted  to  the  expedient  of  hiring  its 
students  by  guarantees  of  large  pecuniary  assistance. 
President  Eliot  was  among  the  first  to  perceive  the 
danger  of  repeating  the  error  which  has  resulted 
in  overcrowding  the  clerical  profession  with  weak- 
lings of  all  sorts,  and  thus  lowering  the  tone  of 
manliness  and  self-respect  in  the  men  who  are  to 
be  college  professors.  There  has  been  no  disposi- 
tion to  turn  out  Doctors  as  a  matter  of  course  after 
three  years  of   mechanical  work  at   some  trivial 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      237 

task  devised  for  the  express  purpose  of  grinding  a 
thesis  out  of  it.  The  school  has  steadfastly  refused 
to  confer  the  degree  of  Doctor  on  any  man  who 
has  not  grasped  the  subject  as  a  whole,  as  well  as 
developed  some  special  aspect  of  it  sufficiently  to 
render  him  a  competent,  and,  so  far  as  training 
can  contribute  to  it,  an  inspiring  teacher.  Not 
every  one  of  the  Doctors  it  has  turned  out  will 
make  a  successful  professor;  but  the  system  is 
not  one  which,  by  concentrating  half-trained  men 
almost  exclusively  on  the  narrowest  of  technical 
investigations,  makes  failure  the  rule,  and  success 
the  miraculous  exception. 

Having  thus  started  every  department  of  the 
university  upon  the  pathway  of  reform,  President 
Eliot  next  turned  his  attention  to  the  secondary 
schools.  As  far  back  as  his  report  for  the  year 
1873-74,  he  had  called  attention  to  "the  great 
importance  to  the  colleges  and  to  the  community 
that  the  way  be  kept  wide  open  from  the  primary 
school  to  the  professional  school,  for  the  poor  as 
well  as  for  the  rich,"  and  had  said,  "  The  desired 
connection  between  the  secondary  schools  and  the 
colleges  might  be  secured  by  effecting  certain 
changes  in  the  requisitions  for  admission  to  college 
on  the  one  hand,  and  in  the  studies  of  the  existing 
high  schools  on  the  other.  But  this  is  not  the  place 
to  discuss  these  changes  at  length." 

Seventeen  years  later   he  found  the  place  for 


238     A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

such  discussion  at  the  meeting  of  the  National 
Educational  Association,  in  a  speech  which  led  to 
the  formation  of  the  famous  Committee  of  Ten,  of 
which  he  was  appointed  chairman.  By  his  prodi- 
gious labors  on  that  committee  he  secured  national 
sanction  for  his  long-cherished  views  as  to  the 
worthlessness  of  short,  scrappy  information  courses ; 
the  earlier  beginning  in  the  elementary  schools  of 
such  subjects  as  algebra,  geometry,  natural  science, 
and  modern  languages  ;  "  the  correlation  and  asso- 
ciation of  subjects  with  one  another  by  the  pro- 
grammes and  by  the  actual  teaching ;  "  emphasis 
on  the  supreme  importance  of  thorough  training  in 
English ;  the  doctrine  that  secondary  schools  sup- 
ported at  public  expense  should  be  primarily  for 
the  many  who  do  not  pursue  their  education  far- 
ther, and  only  incidentally  for  the  few  who  are 
going  to  college ;  the  doctrine  of  the  equal  rank, 
for  purposes  of  admission  to  college,  of  all  subjects 
taught  by  proper  methods  with  sufficient  concen- 
tration, time  allotment,  and  consecutiveness ;  and 
the  corollary  thereof,  that  college  requirements  for 
admission  should  coincide  with  high-school  require- 
ments for  graduation.  At  the  same  time  he  secured 
the  working  out  in  detail  of  the  practical  applica- 
tion of  these  measures  by  representative  experts  in 
all  the  departments  involved ;  thus  giving  to  second- 
ary education  the  greatest  impulse  in  the  direction 
of  efficiency,  variety,  serviceableness,  and  vitality  it 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT     239 

has  ever  received,  and  winning  the  grandest  vic- 
tory ever  achieved  in  the  field  of  American  edu* 
cation. 

Nor  did  he  stop  there.  Finding  by  actual  experi- 
ment with  schoolboys  brought  to  his  own  study  that 
the  entire  reading-matter  included  in  a  grammar- 
school  course  covering  six  years  could  be  read  aloud 
in  forty-six  hours,  and  that  the  work  in  arithmetic 
done  during  two  years  by  giving  one  fifth  of  all  the 
time  of  the  school  to  it  could  be  done  by  a  bright 
boy  fresh  from  the  high  school  in  fifteen  hours ; 
finding  by  actual  reading  of  everything  used  in  that 
grammar  school  that  the  entire  course  was  dull  and 
destitute  of  human  interest,  consisting  chiefly  in  the 
exercise  of  mere  memory  on  such  relatively  useless 
matters  as  the  capitals  and  boundaries  of  distant 
States ;  finding  that  the  children  and  the  commu- 
nity alike  were  suffering  irreparable  harm  because 
the  peculiar  natural  aptitudes  of  individual  children 
were  not  appealed  to,  and  consequently  not  devel- 
oped,—  in  1891,  after  considerable  discussion,  and 
in  spite  of  some  opposition  directed  from  the  head- 
quarters of  conservatism,  he  secured  from  the  As- 
sociation of  New  England  Colleges,  at  its  annual 
meeting  at  Brown  University,  an  indorsement  of  his 
plan  for  "  shortening  and  enriching  the  grammar- 
school  course."  The  recommendations  then  made 
covered  five  points :  elementary  natural  history  in 
the  earlier  years,  to  be  taught  by  demonstrations 


240  A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

and  practical  exercises,  with  suitable  apparatus, 
rather  than  from  books  ;  elementary  physics  in  the 
later  years,  to  be  taught  by  the  laboratory  method  ; 
algebra  and  geometry  at  the  age  of  twelve  or  thir- 
teen ;  and  French,  German,  or  Latin,  or  any  two 
of  these  languages,  from  and  after  the  age  of  ten. 
During  the  years  immediately  following  he  was 
busy  advocating  these  reforms  in  primary  and  sec- 
ondary education ;  always  resting  his  argument  on 
the  supreme  importance,  both  for  the  children  and 
for  the  community,  that  each  individual's  peculiar 
powers  should  be  trained  to  the  highest  degree,  as  a 
means  to  that  equality  of  opportunity  which  is  the 
glory  of  a  true  democracy,  and  that  diversity  of 
talent  and  function  which  is  essential  to  happy  and 
useful  social  life ;  and  pointing  out  that  these  re- 
forms were  quite  as  much  in  the  interest  of  the 
many  whose  education  ends  at  the  grammar  school 
or  high  school  as  for  those  who  go  to  college. 

In  psychological  analyses  of  the  process  of  "  ap- 
perception "  and  the  related  realm  of  "  child  study," 
President  Eliot  has  had  but  scanty  interest.  He 
has  rather  taken  it  for  granted  that  if  the  table 
is  spread  with  a  feast  of  sufficient  freshness  and 
variety,  and  presided  over  by  a  tactful  and  gener- 
ous host  or  hostess,  the  children  can  be  counted  on 
to  get  enough  to  eat ;  even  if  no  prepared  food  is 
provided  in  powdered  form,  and  although  the  host- 
ess herself  may  be  unable  to  delineate  the  precise 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      241 

details  of  the  physiological  processes  of  mastica- 
tion, swallowing,  digestion,  and  assimilation.  His 
emphasis  has  always  been  upon  the  substance  of 
the  truth  presented,  not  on  the  form  of  its  appre- 
hension by  the  receiving  mind. 

There  have  been  men  in  our  colleges  more  gifted 
than  President  Eliot  in  supplementing  scanty  re- 
sources and  meagre  equipment  by  the  power  of 
direct  personal  inspiration  ;  though  in  recent  years 
he  has  made  great  gains  in  this  respect,  and  his 
addresses  on  enlistment  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Spanish  war,  and  on  a  memorial  for  those  who 
died,  rank  among  the  most  influential  and  uplift- 
ing counsels  ever  given  by  college  officers  to  college 
students.  And  while  other  presidents  may  have 
been  more  expeditious  in  creating  culture  out  of 
cash,  he  has  never  forgotten  that  "  a  quarter  of  one 
per  cent  means  a  new  professorship  ;  "  has  never 
been  backward  either  in  creating  financial  demands 
or  in  searching  for  fresh  sources  of  supply.  Yet  he 
has  never  been  in  the  least  degree  servile  toward 
rich  benefactors,  but  rather  inclined  to  err  in  the 
direction  complained  of  by  an  early  benefactor 
whom  Professor  Dunbar  reports  as  saying  of  the 
President,  "  He  comes  to  me  for  my  money  and 
my  advice ;  and,  like  the  women  in  the  Scripture, 
the  one  is  taken  and  the  other  left." 

Even  in  the  brief  sketch  of  reforms  given  above, 
the  reader  must  have  noticed  the  long  lapse  of  time 


242      A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

between  the  first  prophecy  of  a  reform  and  its  ful- 
fillment. When  President  Eliot  was  elected,  George 
S.  Hillard,  meeting  him  on  the  street,  said  to  him, 
"  Do  you  know  what  qualities  you  will  need  most 
out  there  at  Harvard?"  President  Eliot  replied 
that  he  supposed  he  would  need  industry,  courage, 
and  the  like.  "No,"  said  Mr.  Hillard.  "What 
you  will  need  is  patience  —  patience  —  patience." 
So  it  has  proved.  AU  these  reforms  have  required 
ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  years  for  their  accomplish- 
ment. Yet  this  marvelous  patience  has  been  no 
idle  waiting  for  the  lapse  of  time,  but  the  steady 
pressure  of  one  who  was  confident  that  he  was 
right,  and  sure  that,  if  urged  at  every  opportu- 
nity, the  right  would  gain  adherents  and  ultimately 
prevail. 

President  Eliot's  reforms  have  all  been  rooted  in 
principles  and  purposes  which  at  bottom  are  moral 
and  religious.  He  has  gone  up  and  down  the  whole 
length  of  our  educational  line,  condemning  every 
defect,  denouncing  every  abuse,  exposing  every 
sham,  rebuking  every  form  of  incompetence  and 
inefficiency,  as  treason  to  the  truth,  an  injury  to 
the  community,  a  crime  against  the  individual.  To 
his  mind,  intent  on  making  God's  richest  gifts 
available  for  the  blessing  of  mankind,  a  dull  gram- 
mar school  is  an  instrument  of  intellectual  abor- 
tion ;  uniformity  in  secondary  schools  is  a  slow 
starvation  process  ;  paternalism  and  prescription  in 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      243 

college  is  a  dwarfing  and  stunting  of  the  powers  on 
wluch  the  prosperity  of  a  democratic  society  must 
rest;  superficial  legal  training  is  partnership  in 
robbery;  inadequate  medical  education  is  whole- 
sale murder;  dishonest  theological  instruction  is 
an  occasion  of  stumbling  more  to  be  dreaded  than 
"  that  a  great  miUstone  should  be  hanged  about 
his  neck,  and  that  he  should  be  cast  into  the  depths 
of  the  sea." 

Such  has  been  the  work  of  this  educational  re- 
former. What,  then,  has  been  his  reward?  For 
the  first  twenty-five  years  he  was  misunderstood, 
misrepresented,  maligned,  hated  with  and  without 
cause.  It  may  be  that  it  is  an  essential  element  of 
the  reformer's  make-up  that,  in  order  to  hold  firmly 
and  tenaciously  his  own  views  against  a  hostile 
world,  he  should  be  somewhat  lacking  in  sensitive- 
ness, and  at  times  appear  to  take  a  hostile  attitude 
toward  those  who  differ  from  him.  This,  at  any 
rate,  seems  to  have  been  characteristic  of  President 
Eliot  during  the  early  years  of  his  long  fight  for 
educational  reform.  In  later  years,  now  that  most 
of  his  favorite  reforms  are  well  launched,  and  his 
services  in  their  behalf  are  acknowledged  with  grati- 
tude on  all  sides,  there  has  been  manifest  a  great 
change,  amounting  to  the  kindliest  appreciation  of 
temperaments  widely  different  from  his  own.  Even 
in  the  days  of  his  apparent  hardness  he  was  never 
known  to  cherish  personal  animosity  on  account  of 


244      A   GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

difference  of  views.  At  the  time  when  the  fight 
was  hottest  in  his  own  faculty,  meeting  an  assistant 
professor,  most  outspoken  in  antagonism  to  all  his 
favorite  measures,  who  had  received  a  call  to  go 
elsewhere,  he  said  to  him,  "  I  suppose  you  under- 
stand that  your  opposition  to  my  policy  wiU  not  in 
the  slightest  degree  interfere  with-  your  promotion 
here."  Partly  owing  to  the  triumph  of  his  views 
even  in  the  minds  of  most  of  his  old  opponents 
who  survive,  partly  owing  to  the  change  which  the 
years  with  their  increasing  cares  and  sorrows  have 
wrought  in  the  man  himseK,  he  has  come  to  be 
universally  trusted,  admired,  and  loved  by  all  who 
know  him  well.  Yet  his  chief  reward  has  been 
that  which  he  commended  to  another,  "  the  great 
happiness  of  devoting  one's  self  for  life  to  a  noble 
work  without  reserve,  or  stint,  or  thought  of  self, 
looking  for  no  advancement,  hoping  for  nothing 
again." 

No  one  can  begin  to  measure  the  gain  to  civ- 
ilization and  human  happiness  his  services  have 
wrought.  As  compared  with  what  would  have  been 
accomplished  by  a  series  of  conservative  clergy- 
men, or  ornate  figure-heads,  or  narrow  specialists, 
or  even  mere  business  men  such  as  by  the  unin- 
formed he  has  most  erroneously  sometimes  been 
supposed  to  be,  his  leadership  has  doubled  the  rate 
of  educational  advance  not  in  Harvard  alone,  but 
throughout  the  United  States.    He  has  sought  to 


A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT      245 

extend  the  helping  hand  of  sympathy  and  appreci- 
ation to  every  struggling  capacity  in  the  humblest 
grammar  grade ;  to  stimulate  it  into  joyous  blos- 
soming under  the  sunshine  of  congenial  studies 
throughout  the  secondary  years ;  to  bring  it  to  a 
sturdy  and  sound  maturity  in  the  atmosphere  of 
liberty  in  college  life ;  and  finally,  by  stern  selec- 
tion and  thorough  specialization,  to  gather  a  har- 
vest of  experts  in  all  the  higher  walks  of  life,  on 
whose  skill,  knowledge,  integrity,  and  self-sacrifice 
their  less  trained  fellows  can  implicitly  rely  for 
higher  instruction,  professional  counsel,  and  public 
leadership.  In  consequence  of  these  comprehensive 
reforms,  we  see  the  first  beginnings  of  a  rational 
and  universal  church,  not  separate  from  existing 
sects,  but  permeating  aU ;  property  rights  in  all 
their  subtle  forms  are  more  secure  and  well  de- 
fined; hundreds  of  persons  are  alive  to-day  who 
under  physicians  of  inferior  training  would  have 
died  long  ago ;  thousands  of  college  students  have 
had  quickened  within  them  a  keen  intellectual  in- 
terest, an  earnest  spiritual  purpose,  a  "personal 
power  in  action  under  responsibility,"  who  under 
the  old  regime  would  have  remained  listless  and 
indifferent;  tens  of  thousands  of  boys  and  girls 
in  secondary  schools  can  expand  their  hearts  and 
minds  with  science  and  history  and  the  languages 
of  other  lands,  who  but  for  President  Eliot  would 
have  been  doomed  to  the  monotonous  treadmill  of 


246     A  GREAT  COLLEGE  PRESIDENT 

formal  studies  for  which  they  have  no  aptitude  or 
taste ;  and,  as  the  years  go  by,  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  the  children  of  the  poor,  in  the  precious 
tender  years  before  their  early  drafting  into  lives 
of  drudgery  and  toil,  in  place  of  the  dry  husks  of 
superfluous  arithmetic,  the  thrice-threshed  straw 
of  imessential  grammar,  and  the  innutritions  shells 
of  unrememberable  geographical  details,  will  get 
some  brief  glimpse  of  the  wondrous  loveliness  of 
nature  and  her  laws,  some  slight  touch  of  inspira- 
tion from  the  words  and  deeds  of  the  world's 
wisest  and  bravest  men,  to  carry  with  them  as  a 
heritage  to  brighten  their  future  humble  homes 
and  gladden  all  their  after-lives.  In  such  "  good 
measure,  pressed  down,  shaken  together,  running 
over,"  has  there  been  given  to  this  great  educa- 
tional reformer,  in  return  for  generous  and  stead- 
fast service  of  his  university,  his  fellow-men,  his 
country,  and  his  God,  what,  in  true  Puritan  sim- 
plicity, he  calls  "that  finest  luxury,  to  do  some 
perpetual  good  in  this  world." 


xin 

The  Personality  of  the  Teacher  * 

SOME  people  can  teacli  school  and  other  people 
can't.  Some  teachers  have  good  order,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  as  soon  as  they  set  foot  in  a  school 
class-room.  Other  teachers  can  never  get  anything 
more  than  the  outward  semblance  of  decorum,  try 
as  hard  as  they  will ;  and  often  cannot  get  even 
that.  Some  teachers  the  scholars  all  love.  Other 
teachers  they  all  hate. 

Some  teachers  a  superintendent  or  president  will 
jump  at  the  chance  to  secure  after  a  five  minutes' 
interview.  Others,  equally  scholarly,  equally  expe- 
rienced, equally  weU  equipped  with  formal  recom- 
mendations, go  wandering  from  agency  to  agency, 
from  one  vacant  place  to  another,  only  to  find  thaf 
some  other  applicant  has  secured  or  is  about  t<? 
secure  the  coveted  position. 

For  nearly  twenty  years  I  have  had  to  employ 
teachers  every  year,  and  to  recommend  teachers 
to  others.  I  have  seen  many  succeed,  and  some 
fail.   But  I  have  never  seen  a  success  that  could 

^  A  more  complete  account  of  the  philosophical  principles  here 
condensed  and  applied  to  the  specific  problems  of  the  teacher  may 
be  found  in  From  Epicurus  to  Christ,  published  by  the  Macmil- 
lan  Co. 


248  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

be  accounted  for  by  scholarship  and  training  alone. 
I  have  never  seen  a  failure  that  I  could  not  account 
for  on  other  grounds.  What  is  it,  then,  that  makes 
one  teacher  popular,  successful,  wanted  in  a  dozen 
different  places  ;  and  another  equally  weU  trained, 
equally  experienced,  a  dismal  failure  where  he  is, 
and  wanted  nowhere  else  ? 

The  one  word  that  covers  all  these  qualities  is 
personality ;  that  is  the  thing  aU  wise  employers  of 
teachers  seek  to  secure  above  all  else.  In  colleges 
for  men  in  New  England  it  is  absolutely  imperative. 
In  elementary  and  secondary  schools,  in  coUeges  in 
other  sections  of  the  country,  a  teacher  with  serious 
defects  of  personality  may  be  carried  along  by  the 
momentum  of  the  system,  and  the  tact  of  superin- 
tendents and  presidents.  But  in  a  men's  coUege  in 
New  England  a  professor  with  seriously  defective 
personality  is  simply  impossible.  The  boys  wiU 
either  make  him  over  into  a  decent  man  by  the 
severest  kind  of  discipline,  or  else  they  will  turn 
him  out.  I  have  seen  them  do  both  more  than 
once.  A  man  who  is  egotistical,  insincere,  diplo- 
matic, mean,  selfish,  untruthful,  cowardly,  unfair, 
weak,  is  a  person  whom  New  England  men  stu- 
dents will  not  tolerate  as  a  teacher.  No  amount  of 
knowledge  and  reputation,  no  amount  of  backing 
from  the  administration,  can  save  him.  On  the 
whole,  I  am  glad  that  this  is  so.  It  makes  the 
responsibility  of  selecting  professors  tremendous. 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER  249 

But,  on  the  whole,  it  secures  in  the  end  a  better 
type  of  men  for  college  professors  than  we  should 
be  likely  to  get  if  the  office  could  be  held  on  any 
easier  terms. 

Now,  personality  is  very  largely  a  matter  of 
heredity.  Some  people  are  born  large-natured ; 
other  people  are  born  small-souled.  The  former  are 
born  to  succeed;  the  latter  are  born  to  fail  in  any 
work  in  which  personality  counts  for  so  much  as  it 
does  in  teaching.  People  with  these  mean  natures 
and  small  souls  never  ought  to  try  to  teach.  They 
ought  to  get  into  some  strictly  mechanical  work 
where  skilled  hands  count  for  everything  and 
warm  hearts  count  for  nothing. 

Still,  personality,  though  largely  dependent  on 
heredity,  is  in  great  measure  capable  of  cultivation. 
If  it  were  not,  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  talk 
about  it  here.  Some  teachers  would  be  foreordained 
to  succeed,  others  foreordained  to  fail ;  and  nothing 
but  the  process  of  natural  selection  after  actual 
experience  could  separate  those  who  are  personally 
fit  to  teach  from  those  who  are  not,  and  never  can 
be.  Our  personality  is  largely  an  affair  of  our  own 
making.  Those  who  have  weak  points  may,  by 
thoughtfulness  and  resolution,  strengthen  them; 
and  those  who  are  naturally  strong,  by  effort  may 
grow  stronger  stiU.  How  this  may  be  done  is  what 
I  am  to  try  to  tell.  Fortunately,  it  is  not  a  new 
story,  but  a  very  old  one,  at  which  the  world  has 


250  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

been  working  a  long  while.  To  our  problem  of 
personality  the  world  has  found  five  answers :  the 
Epicurean,  the  Stoic,  the  Platonic,  the  Aristotelian, 
and  the  Christian.  I  shall  present  these  five  answers 
in  order.  Some  of  you  will  doubtless  find  that 
you  can  apply  one  of  these  principles ;  others  will 
find  another  principle  the  one  of  which  they  stand 
in  need.  I  shall  not  undertake  to  make  all  that  I 
say  consistent.  I  shall  be  simply  the  mouthpiece 
of  those  five  types  of  personality;  and  leave  the 
reader  to  select  what  he  needs ;  and  reject  the  rest 
as  unprofitable.  These  five  answers  in  brief  are 
as  follows. 

The  Epicurean  says:  "Take  into  your  life  as 
many  simple,  natural  pleasures  as  possible."  The 
Stoic  says :  "  Keep  out  of  your  mind  all  causes  of 
anxiety  and  grief."  The  Platonist  says :  "  Lift  up 
your  soul  above  the  dust  and  drudgery  of  daily 
life,  into  the  pure  atmosphere  of  the  perfect  and 
the  good."  The  Aristotelian  says :  "  Organize  your 
life  by  clear  conception  of  the  end  for  which  you  are 
living,  seek  diligently  all  means  that  further  this 
end,  and  rigidly  exclude  all  that  would  hinder  it  or 
distract  you  from  it."  The  Christian  says :  "  En- 
large your  spirit  to  include  the  interest  and  aims  of 
all  the  persons  whom  your  life  in  any  way  affects." 

Any  man  or  woman  of  average  hereditary  gifts, 
and  ordinary  scholarship  and  training,  who  puts 
these  five  principles  in  practice,  will  be  a  popu- 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    251 

lar,  effective,  happy,  and  successful  teacher.  Any 
teacher,  however  well  equipped  otherwise,  who 
neglects  any  one  of  these  principles  will,  to  that 
extent,  be  thereby  weakened,  crippled,  and  disquali- 
fied for  the  work  of  teaching.  Any  person  who 
should  be  found  defective  in  the  majority  of  these 
five  requirements  would  be  unfit  to  teach  at  all. 
Let  us  then  take  them  in  order,  and  test  ourselves 
by  them.    First,  the  Epicurean. 

The  Epicurean  gospel  is  summed  up  best  in 
Stevenson's  lines,  "  The  Celestial  Surgeon : "  — 

If  I  have  faltered  more  or  less 
In  my  great  task  of  happiness; 
If  I  have  moved  among  my  race 
And  shown  no  glorious  morning  face. 
If  beams  from  happy  human  eyes 
Have  moved  me  not;  if  morning  skies. 
Books,  and  my  food,  and  summer  rain 
Knocked  on  my  sullen  heart  in  vain  — 
Lord,  thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take 
And  stab  my  spirit  broad  awake: 
Or,  Lord,  if  too  obdurate  I, 
Choose  thou,  before  that  spirit  die, 
A  piercing  pain,  a  killing  sin. 
And  to  my  dead  heart  run  them  in. 

The  one  thing  in  which  the  teacher  on  no  account 
must  fail  is  this  which  Stevenson  calls  "  Our  great 
task  of  happiness."  The  world  is  a  vast  reservoir 
of  potential  pleasure.  It  is  our  first  business  here, 
so  says  the  Epicurean,  for  whom  I  am  speaking 
now,  to  get  at  aU  costs,  save  that  of  overbalancing 


252  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

pain,  as  many  of  these  pleasures  as  we  can.  Doubt- 
less you  will  say,  this  is  a  very  low  ideal  of  life. 
Well,  I  admit  that  there  are  higher  ideals,  for  the 
sake  of  which  this  ideal,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
must  be  sacrificed.  I  admit  that  the  mother  with  a 
sick  child,  the  scholar  with  a  difficult  problem,  the 
statesman  in  a  political  campaign,  all  of  us,  in  fact, 
ought  to  have  higher  ideals,  and  sacrifice  this  ideal 
of  pleasure  to  them.  But  you  cannot  sacrifice  it 
unless  in  the  first  place  you  have  it,  and  care  very 
much  for  it. 

If  we  grant  that  it  is  a  low  ideal,  it  is  all  the 
more  shameful  if  we  fall  below  it.  And  a  great 
many  teachers  fall  below  it,  and  enormously  dimin- 
ish their  usefulness  in  consequence.  What,  then, 
is  the  Epicurean  ideal  for  the  teacher  ?  Plenty  of 
good  wholesome  food,  eaten  leisurely  in  good  com- 
pany and  pleasant  surroundings.  No  hurried  break- 
fasts of  coffee  and  doughnuts  ;  no  snatched  lunches 
or  dinners.  A  comfortable  room  where  you  can  be 
quiet  by  yourself  and  not  have  to  talk  when  you 
do  not  want  to.  Now,  in  the  old  days  of  boarding 
the  teacher  around,  these  things,  perhaps,  were  not 
possible.  But,  in  the  long  run,  these  fundamentals 
of  a  pleasant  room  and  a  good  boarding-place  are 
half  the  battle  ;  and  before  accepting  a  position  a 
teacher  should  make  sure  that  these  fundamental 
requisites  can  be  had.  Don't  save  money  by  deny- 
ing yourselves  these  necessities  when  they  can  be 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    253 

had  ;  and  don't  stay  long  in  any  place  where  they 
cannot  be  had.  No  one  can  permanently  be  a  good 
teacher  without  a  background  of  restful  quiet,  and 
a  basis  of  wholesome  food.  Next  comes  exercise  in 
the  open  air.  How  many  hours  of  every  day  do  you 
spend  outdoors,  free  from  care,  enjoying  the  sun- 
light, the  fresh  air,  the  fields,  the  flowers,  the  birds, 
the  hills,  the  streams  ?  To  be  sure,  there  are  voca- 
tions which  do  not  permit  this.  But  the  teacher, 
shut  up  in  close  air  under  high  nervous  tension 
for  five  or  six  hours,  can  and  must  offset  all  this 
abnormality  by  at  least  an  hour  or  two  of  every 
school  day,  and  more  on  Saturday  and  Sunday, 
under  the  open  sky,  as  care-free  and  light-hearted 
as  the  birds  that  sing  in  the  tree-tops.  Are  you 
living  up  to  your  Epicurean  duties  in  this  respect? 
Of  course  you  have  games  you  are  fond  of  play- 
ing. A  teacher  who  works  at  such  exhausting  and 
narrowing  work  as  instructing  thirty  or  forty  rest- 
less children,  and  does  not  counteract  it  by  plenty 
of  play,  is  not  only  committing  slow  suicide,  but  he 
is  stunting  and  dwarfing  his  nature  so  that  every 
year  will  find  him  personally  less  fit  to  teach  than 
he  was  the  year  before.  With  walking,  riding  the 
bicycle,  driving,  golf,  tennis,  croquet,  skating,  cards, 
checkers,  billiards,  rowing,  sailing,  hunting,  fishing, 
and  the  endless  variety  of  games  and  sports  avail- 
able, a  teacher  who  does  not  do  a  lot  of  them  in 
vacations,  and  a  good  deal  of  them  on  half-holidays, 


254  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

and  some  of  them  almost  every  day,  is  falling  far 
below  the  Epicurean  standard  of  what  a  teacher 
ought  to  do  and  be.  Play  and  people  to  play  with 
are  as  necessary  for  a  teacher  as  prayer  for  a 
preacher,  or  votes  for  a  politician,  a  piano  for  a 
musician,  or  a  hammer  for  a  carpenter.  You  simply 
cannot  go  on  healthily,  happily,  hopefully,  without 
it.  If  I  should  learn  of  any  candidate  for  a  posi- 
tion as  professor  in  Bowdoin  College  that  he  did 
and  enjoyed  none  of  these  things,  though  he  should 
be  backed  by  the  highest  recommendations  the 
leading  universities  of  America  and  Europe  could 
bestow,  I  would  not  so  much  as  read  the  letters  that 
he  brought.  For,  however  great  he  might  be  as  a 
scholar,  I  should  know  in  advance  that  he  would  be 
a  failure  in  the  teaching  of  American  youth.  There 
are  probably  just  enough  exceptions  to  this  rule  to 
prove  its  truth.  But  even  those  exceptions,  so  far 
as  I  can  think  of  them,  are  due  to  invalidism,  for 
which  the  individuals  at  present  are  not  responsi- 
ble. Are  you  playing  as  much  as  Epicurus  would 
tell  you  that  you  ought  to  play  ? 

Do  you  sleep  soundly,  as  long  as  nature  requires, 
never  letting  the  regrets  of  the  day  past  nor  the 
anxieties  of  the  day  to  come  encroach  upon  these 
precious  hours,  any  more  than  you  would  that 
greatest  of  abominations  —  the  alarm  clock?  Do 
you  lie  down  every  night  in  absolute  restfulness, 
and  thankfulness,  and  tranquillity  ?     Do  you  live 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    255 

in  care-proof,  worry-tight  compartments,  so  that 
the  little  annoyances  of  one  section  of  your  life  are 
never  allowed  to  spUl  over  and  spoil  the  other  sec- 
tions of  your  lives  ?  In  short,  to  quote  one  who  is 
our  most  genial  modern  apostle  of  Epicureanism, 
do  you  recognize  and  arrange  your  life  according 
to  the  principle  that 

"  The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
That  I  'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings  "  ? 

Have  you  friends  with  whom  you  spend  delight- 
ful hours  in  unrestrained  companionship?  Have 
you  books  which  you  read  for  the  pure  fun  of  it  ? 
Do  you  go  to  concerts  and  entertainments  and  plays 
as  often  as  you  can  afford  the  time  and  money? 
Take  it  altogether,  are  you  having  a  good  time,  or, 
if  not,  are  you  resorting  to  every  available  means 
of  getting  one?  Then,  not  otherwise,  will  you  pass 
this  first  examination  as  to  your  personal  fitness  to 
be  a  teacher.  None  of  us  are  perfect  on  this  point. 
None  of  us  are  having  nearly  so  good  a  time  as  we 
might.  But  we  ought  to  fall  somewhere  above 
seventy  or  eighty  on  a  scale  of  a  hundred  on  this 
fundamental  question.  Let  us  hereafter  mark  our- 
selves as  rigidly  on  this  subject  as  we  do  our  schol- 
ars in  arithmetic  and  geography.  They  are  mark- 
ing us  all  the  time  on  this  very  point ;  only  they 
do  not  call  it  Epicureanism,  or  record  the  result  in 
figures.  They  register  it  in  slangy  terms  of  their 
own  likes  and  dislikes. 


256  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

Second.  Be  a  Stoic,  which  means  keep  your 
mind  free  from  all  worry,  anxiety,  and  grief.  You 
say,  "  That  is  impossible.  The  world  is  f uU  of  evils 
and  we  can't  help  worrying  about  them  and  being 
depressed  by  them."  "Yes,  you  can,"  the  Stoic 
tells  us  ;  for  things  out  there  in  the  external  world 
never  trouble  us.  It  is  only  when  they  get  into  our 
minds  that  they  hurt ;  and  whether  they  shall  be 
let  into  our  minds  depends  entirely  on  ourselves. 
You  make  a  mistake  on  Monday  morning.  That  is 
an  external  fact  to  be  acknowledged  and  corrected 
as  promptly  as  possible.  If  it  makes  you  nervous 
all  Monday  afternoon,  and  takes  away  your  appe- 
tite Monday  evening,  and  keeps  you  awake  Mon- 
day night,  and  starts  you  out  on  Tuesday  morning 
enfeebled,  distrustful,  and  consequently  ten  times  as 
likely  to  make  mistakes  as  you  were  the  day  before, 
that  is  entirely  your  own  affair  and,  if  it  happens, 
your  own  fault.  You  have  allowed  that  external  fact 
that  ought  to  have  been  left  in  the  outside  world, 
where  it  belongs,  to  come  in  and  take  possession  of 
your  mind  and  drive  out  your  normal  mental,  emo- 
tional, and  physiological  processes. 

Stoicism  is  fundamentally  the  doctrine  of  apper- 
ception applied  to  our  emotional  states.  Stoicism 
says  that  our  mental  states  are  what  we  are,  that 
no  external  thing  can  determine  our  mental  state 
until  we  have  woven  it  into  the  structure  of  our 
thought  and  painted  it  with  the  color  of  our  domi* 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    257 

nant  mood  and  temper.  Thus,  every  mental  state 
is  for  the  most  part  of  our  own  making.  Of  course 
this  Stoic  doctrine  is  somewhat  akin  to  the  doc- 
trine of  Christian  Science.  Yet  there  is  a  decided 
difference.  Christian  Science  and  kindred  popu- 
lar cults  deny  the  external  physical  fact  altogether. 
Stoicism  admits  the  reality  and  then  makes  the 
best  of  it.  For  instance,  the  Christian  Scientist 
with  the  toothache  says  there  is  no  matter  there 
to  ache.  The  Stoic,  both  truer  to  the  facts  and 
braver  in  spirit,  says  there  is  matter,  but  it  does  n't 
matter  if  there  is.  Stoicism  teaches  us  that  the 
mental  states  are  the  man;  that  external  things 
never,  in  themselves,  constitute  a  mental  state ; 
that  the  all-important  contribution  is  made  by  the 
mind  itself ;  that  this  contribution  from  the  mind 
is  what  gives  the  tone  and  determines  the  worth 
of  the  total  mental  state,  and  that  this  contribu- 
tion is  exclusively  our  own  affair  and  may  be 
brought  entirely  under  our  own  control.  As  Epic- 
tetus  says,  "Everything  has  two  handles,  —  one  by 
which  it  may  be  borne,  another  by  which  it  cannot. 
If  your  brother  acts  unjustly  do  not  lay  hold  of  the 
affair  by  the  handle  of  his  injustice,  for  by  that 
it  cannot  be  borne  ;  but  rather  by  the  opposite,  — 
that  he  is  your  brother ;  that  he  was  brought  up 
with  you;  and  thus  you  will  lay  hold  on  it  as  it  is 
to  be  borne."  Again,  he  says  men  are  disappointed 
"  not  by  things,  but  by  the  view  which  they  take 


258  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

of  things.  When,  therefore,  we  are  hindered,  or 
disappointed,  or  grieved,  let  us  never  impute  it  to 
others,  but  to  ourselves,  that  is,  to  our  views."  AU 
this,  you  see,  is  the  fundamental  principle  that 
the  only  things  that  enter  into  us  and  affect  our 
states  of  thought,  and  will,  and  feeling  are  things 
as  we  think  about  them,  forces  as  we  act  upon 
them;  and  these  thoughts,  feelings,  and  reactions 
are  our  own  affairs,  and,  consequently,  if  they  are 
not  serene,  tranquil,  and  happy,  the  fault  is  in  our- 
selves. 

Now,  we  can  all  reduce  enormously  our  troubles 
and  vexations  by  bringing  to  bear  upon  them  this 
Stoic  formula.  There  is  a  way  of  looking  at  our 
poverty,  our  plainness  of  feature,  our  lack  of  mental 
brilliance,  our  unpopularity,  our  mistakes,  our  phys- 
ical ailments,  that  will  make  us  modest,  contented, 
cheerful,  and  serene.  The  blunders  we  make,  the 
foolish  things  we  do,  the  hasty  words  we  say,  though 
they,  in  a  sense,  have  gone  out  from  us,  yet  once 
committed  in  the  external  world  they  should  be  left 
there ;  they  should  not  be  brought  back  into  the 
mind  to  be  brooded  over  and  become  centres  of 
depression  and  discouragement.  Stoicism  teaches 
us  to  shift  the  emphasis  from  dead  external  facts 
beyond  our  control  to  the  live  option  which  always 
presents  itself  within.  It  teUs  us  that  the  circum- 
stance or  failure  that  can  make  us  miserable  does 
not  exist  unless  it  exists  by  our  consent  within  our 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    259 

own  minds.  To  consider  not  what  happens  to  us 
but  how  we  take  it ;  to  measure  good  in  terms  not 
of  sensuous  pleasure  but  of  mental  attitude;  to 
know  that  if  we  are  for  the  universal  law  of  right, 
it  matters  not  how  many  things  may  be  against  us ; 
to  rest  assured  that  there  can  be  no  circumstance 
or  condition  in  which  this  great  law  cannot  be  done 
by  us  and,  therefore,  no  situation  of  which  we  can- 
not be  more  than  masters  through  obedience  to  the 
great  law  that  governs  all,  —  this  is  the  stern  and 
lofty  law  of  Stoicism. 

Carried  too  far,  Stoicism  becomes  hard,  cold, 
proud,  and,  like  its  popular  cults  of  to-day,  gro- 
tesque. But  there  is  a  healing  virtue  in  its  stem 
formula  after  all ;  and  when  things  do  not  go  as  we 
should  like,  when  people  maltreat  us  and  find  fault 
with  us,  when  we  meet  our  own  limitations  and 
shortcomings,  it  is  good  for  us  to  know  that  these 
external  facts  have  no  more  power  to  worry  us  and 
depress  us  and  unfit  us  for  our  work  than  we  choose 
to  let  them  have. 

A  teacher's  life  is  probably  more  full  of  con- 
scious failure,  of  personal  collision,  severe  criticism, 
and  general  discouragement  than  almost  any  pro- 
fession. The  ends  at  which  the  teacher  aims  are 
vast  and  indefinite,  the  material  is  perverse  and 
recalcitrant,  the  resources  available  are  often 
meagre,  and  the  outcome  is  always  far  below  what 
one  would  wish.    But  the  Stoic  formula,  faithfully 


260  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

applied,  will  help  us  frankly  to  recognize  these  facts 
and  at  the  same  time  to  overcome  them.  We  shall 
save  ourselves  many  a  troubled  day  and  sleepless 
night  if  we  learn  to  bring  this  Stoic  formula  to  bear 
whenever  these  evils  incidental  to  our  arduous  pro- 
fession press  too  heavily  upon  us. 

The  third  of  the  world's  great  devices  for  the 
development  of  personality  is  Platonism.  The  Epi- 
curean tells  us  to  take  in  all  the  pleasure  we  can 
get.  The  Stoic  shows  us  how  to  keep  out  grief  and 
pain.  But  it  is  a  constant  strife  and  struggle  in 
either  case.  The  Platonist  bids  us  rise  above  it  all. 
"  The  world,"  says  the  Platonist,  "  is  very  imper- 
fect, almost  as  bad  as  the  Stoic  makes  it  out."  We 
must  live  in  this  imperfect  world  after  a  fashion 
and  make  the  best  of  it  while  it  lasts.  This,  how- 
ever, he  tells  us,  is  not  the  real  world.  Individual 
people  and  particular  things  are  but  imperfect, 
faulty,  distorted  copies  of  the  true  pattern  of  the 
good  which  is  laid  up  in  heaven.  We  must  buy  and 
sell,  work  and  play,  eat  and  drink,  laugh  and  cry, 
love  and  hate  down  here  among  the  earthly  shades  ; 
but  our  real  conversation  aU  the  time  may  be  in 
heaven  with  the  perfectly  good  and  true  and  beau- 
tiful. This  doctrine,  you  see,  is  very  closely  akin 
to  much  of  the  popular  philosophy  which  is  gaining 
so  many  adherents  in  our  day.  A  little  of  it  is 
a  good  thing,  but  to  feed  on  it  exclusively  or  re- 
gard it  as  the  final  gospel  is  very  dangerous.    These 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    261 

Platonists  go  through  the  world  with  a  serene  smile 
and  an  air  of  other-worldliness  we  cannot  but  ad- 
mire ;  they  are  seen  to  most  advantage,  however, 
from  a  little  distance.  They  are  not  the  most  agree- 
able to  live  with ;  it  is  a  great  misfortune  to  be  tied 
to  one  of  them  as  husband  or  wife,  college  or  busi- 
ness partner.  Louisa  Alcott  had  this  type  in  mind 
when  she  defined  a  philosopher  as  a  man  up  in  a 
balloon  with  his  family  and  friends  having  hold  of 
the  rope  trying  to  pull  him  down  to  earth.  Pretty 
much  all  of  the  philosophy  of  Christian  Science, 
and  a  great  deal  that  passes  for  Christian  religion, 
is  simply  Platonism  masquerading  in  disguise.  All 
such  hymns  as  "  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,"  "  O  Para- 
dise, O  Paradise,"  and  the  like  are  simply  Platonic. 
Thomas  a  Kempis  gives  us  Platonism  in  the  form 
of  mediaeval  Christian  mysticism.  Emerson  has  a 
large  element  of  Platonism  in  all  his  deeper  pas- 
sages. In  all  its  forms  you  get  the  same  dualism 
of  finite  and  infinite,  perfect  and  imperfect ;  un- 
worthy, crumbling  earth-mask  to  be  gotten  rid  of 
here  on  earth,  and  the  stars  to  be  sought  out  and 
gazed  at  up  in  heaven. 

It  is  easy  to  ridicule  and  caricature  this  type  of 
personality.  Yet  the  world  would  be  much  the 
poorer  if  the  Platonists  and  the  mystics  were  with- 
drawn. The  man  or  woman  who  at  some  time  or 
other  does  not  feel  the  speU  or  charm  of  this  mood 
will  miss  one  of  the  nobler  experiences  of  life. 


262  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

In  spite  of  this  warning  against  Platonism  ac- 
cepted as  a  finished  gospel,  it  contains  truth  which 
every  teacher  ought  to  know  and  on  occasion  to 
apply.  When  one  is  walking  thi-ough  the  forest 
and  knows  not  which  way  to  go,  it  is  a  gain  some- 
times to  climb  a  tree  and  take  a  look  over  the 
tops  of  the  surrounding  trees.  The  climbing  does 
not  directly  help  you  on  your  journey,  and,  of 
course,  if  you  stay  in  the  tree-top  you  wiU  never 
reach  your  destination ;  but  it  does  give  you  your 
bearings  and  insures  that  the  next  stage  of  your 
journey  wiU  be  in  the  right  direction.  Now  the 
teacher  lives  in  a  wilderness  of  dreary  and  monoto- 
nous details  which  shut  out  the  larger  horizon  as 
completely  as  the  trees  of  the  forest.  Every  teacher 
ought,  now  and  then,  to  climb  the  tall  tree,  or  to 
leave  the  figure,  to  go  away  by  himself  and  look 
at  his  life  as  a  whole.  A  traveler  in  a  Southern 
forest  found  an  aged  negro  sitting  with  his  banjo 
under  a  tree  ten  miles  from  the  nearest  settlement. 
In  his  surprise,  he  asked  the  negro  what  he  was 
doing  off  there  so  far  in  the  wilderness  alone,  and 
he  replied,  "  I  'm  just  serenading  my  own  soul." 
Platonism  teaches  us  to  get  out  of  the  bustle  and 
tangle  of  life  once  in  a  while  and  serenade  our 
own  souls.  We  need,  at  times,  to  look  at  ourselves 
in  the  large,  to  make  clear  to  ourselves  the  great 
purpose  for  which  we  are  living,  and  the  ideal  of 
character  toward  which  we  aspire.     We  need  to 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER  263 

commune  with  the  better  self  that  we  hope  to  be 
and  take  our  bearings  anew  for  the  immediate  jour- 
ney before  us.  Most  people  get  this  Platonic  refuge 
in  religion  ;  some  get  it  in  music,  some  in  art,  some 
in  intimate  personal  friendships.  In  some  way  or' 
other  every  teacher  should  have  some  sphere  of  life 
apart  from  the  daily  routine  in  which  he  can  dwell 
undisturbed  and  find  everj^thing  serene,  perfect,  and 
complete.  When  one  comes  down,  as  come  down 
one  must,  from  these  mounts  of  transfiguration,  or, 
to  use  Plato's  figure,  "  when  one  returns  from  the 
sunlight  back  into  the  cave,"  when  one  takes  up 
again  the  duty  and  drudgery  of  life,  though  at  first 
it  wiU  seem  more  impossible  and  irksome  than  ever, 
yet  in  the  long  run  he  will  find  a  cheerfulness  and 
serenity  in  the  doing  of  these  hard,  homely  duties 
which  he  never  could  have  gained  unless  for  these 
brief  periods  he  had  gone  up  into  the  summits  where 
he  sees  the  world  as  a  whole  bathed  in  unclouded 
sunshine.  A  teacher  will  hardly  be  able  to  keep  his 
poise,  his  temper,  and  his  cheerful  outlook  upon  life 
without  the  aid  in  some  form  or  other  of  these  Pla- 
tonic resources.  Yet  I  must  conclude  this  word 
about  Plato  as  I  began  with  a  warning.  It  must  be 
taken  in  moderate  doses,  and  every  added  outlook 
and  emotion  derived  from  Platonic  sources  must  be 
followed  immediately  by  prompt  and  vigorous  atten- 
tion to  the  duties  that  await  us  at  the  foot  of  the 
mount.  The  mere  Platonist  who  is  that  and  nothing 


264  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

more,  whether  he  call  himself  mystic,  monastic, 
Catholic,  Evangelical,  Protestant,  Theosophist,  or 
Christian  Scientist,  must  remember  that,  though 
he  draw  his  inspiration  from  above  the  clouds,  the 
real  tests  of  life  are  found  on  the  solid  earth  be- 
neath his  feet.  The  Platonist  of  all  these  types 
should  take  to  heart  the  lesson  conveyed  in  Steven- 
son's "  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows." 

And  ye,  O  brethren,  what  if  God, 
When  from  heav'n's  top  he  spies  abroad, 
And  sees  on  this  tormented  stage 
The  noble  war  of  mankind  rage, 
What  if  His  vivifying  eye, 
O  monks,  should  pass  your  corner  by  ? 
For  still  the  Lord  is  Lord  of  might. 
In  deeds,  in  deeds  he  takes  delight ; 
The  plough,  the  spear,  the  laden  barks, 
The  field,  the  founded  city,  marks  ; 
He  marks  the  smiler  of  the  streets, 
The  singer  upon  garden  seats  ; 
He  sees  the  climber  in  the  rocks  ; 
To  Him,  the  shepherd  folds  his  flocks. 

For  those  He  loves  that  underprop 
With  daily  virtues  heaven's  top. 
And  bear  the  falling  sky  with  ease, 
Unfrowning  caryatides. 
Those  He  approves  that  ply  the  trade, 
That  rock  the  child,  that  wed  the  maid, 
That  with  weak  virtues,  weaker  hands, 
Sow  gladness  on  the  peopled  lands, 
And  still  with  laughter,  song  and  shout. 
Spin  the  great  wheel  of  the  earth  about. 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    265 

But  ye  ?   O  ye  who  linger  still 
Here  in  your  fortress  on  the  hill, 
With  placid  face,  with  tranquil  breath, 
The  unsought  volunteers  of  death. 
Our  cheerful  General  on  high 
With  careless  looks  may  pass  you  by. 

The  fourth  great  lesson  of  personality  was  taught 
the  world  by  Aristotle.  According  to  Aristotle,  man 
is  to  find  his  end,  not  in  heaven  in  the  hereafter,  but 
here  and  now  upon  the  earth.  The  end  is  not  some- 
thing to  be  gained  by  indulgence  of  appetite  with 
the  Epicurean,  by  superiority  to  passion  with  the 
Stoic,  by  solitary  elevation  of  soul  with  the  Platon- 
ist ;  the  end  is  to  be  wrought  out  of  the  very  stuff 
of  which  the  hard  world  around  us  is  made.  From 
the  Aristotelian  point  of  view  nothing  is  good  in  it- 
self ;  nothing  is  bad  in  itself.  The  goodness  of  good 
things  depends  upon  the  good  use  to  which  we  put 
them,  and  the  badness  of  bad  things  depends  like- 
wise on  the  bad  use  to  which  we  put  them. 

From  this  point  of  view  personality  depends  on 
the  sense  of  proportion.  This  sense  of  proportion 
is  the  most  essential  part  of  a  teacher's  equipment. 
Every  teacher  has  opportunity  to  do  twenty  times 
as  much  as  he  is  able  to  do  weU.  The  important 
thing  is  to  know  which  twentieth  to  do  and  which 
nineteen  twentieths  to  leave  undone.  Between 
mastery  of  subjects  taught,  general  reading,  profes- 
sional study,  exercise,  recreation,  social  engagements, 


266  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

personal  work  with  individual  scholars,  private  af- 
fairs, correspondence,  the  regular  work  of  the  class- 
room, the  correcting  of  papers,  preparation  of  par- 
ticular lessons,  church,  clubs,  there  is  obviously  far 
more  draft  on  the  teacher's  time  and  strength  than 
can  be  met  with  safety.  Teaching  is  an  extra-haz- 
ardous profession,  so  far  at  any  rate  as  the  nervous 
system  is  concerned.  Into  each  of  several  of  these 
lines  one  might  put  his  whole  energy  and  still  leave 
much  to  be  accomplished.  The  teacher's  problem, 
then,  is  one  of  proportion  and  selection,  to  know 
what  to  slight  and  what  to  emphasize.  The  elements 
that  enter  into  the  problem  are  different  in  each 
person.  Consequently,  no  general  rules  can  be  laid 
down.  The  teacher  should  have  a  pretty  clear  idea 
of  what  he  means  to  do  and  be.  That  which  is  es- 
sential to  this  main  end  should  be  accepted  at  all 
costs ;  that  which  hinders  it  should  be  rejected  at 
all  costs.  When  the  choice  is  between  things  which 
help  it  more  and  help  it  less,  those  which  help  it 
more  should  be  taken  and  those  which  help  it  less 
should  be  rejected.  The  teacher  should  learn  to  say 
"  No  !  "  to  calls  which  are  good  in  themselves,  but 
are  not  good  for  him.  For  instance,  amateur  the- 
atricals are  good  in  themselves,  but  no  teacher  who 
is  teaching  five  or  six  hours  a  day  can  afford  to  give 
three  or  four  evenings  a  week  to  lengthy  rehearsals. 
Church  fairs  are  good  in  themselves,  but  the  wise 
teacher  will  leave  the  management  of  such  things  to 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    267 

persons  who  have  much  more  leisure.  Church  atten- 
dance on  Sunday  is  a  good  thing  in  itself,  but  one 
service  a  day  is  as  much  as  the  average  teacher 
can  attend  who  would  do  his  best  the  five  working 
days  of  the  week.  Sunday-school  teaching  is  an 
excellent  thing  in  itseK ;  but  as  a  rule  it  is  the  one 
thing  above  aU  others  from  which  the  conscientious 
public-school  teacher  will  most  rigidly  refrain.  For 
Sunday-school  teaching  puts  the  teacher  on  what 
should  be  the  chief  day  of  rest  into  precisely  the 
same  state  of  nervous  tension  that  must  be  main- 
tained during  the  greater  part  of  the  week.  Sunday- 
school  teaching  for  a  public-school  teacher  is  very 
much  the  same  misuse  of  Sunday  that  taking  in  a 
big  Sunday  washing  would  be  for  a  washerwoman 
who  had  washings  to  do  on  all  the  other  six  days 
of  the  week.  Making  out  absolutely  accurate  rank 
and  reading  carefully  all  the  written  work  of  a 
large  class  of  pupils  is  a  good  thing  in  itself ;  but 
wise  superintendents  will  save  their  teachers  as 
much  of  that  work  as  possible,  and  teachers  them- 
selves will  understand  that  if  anything  is  to  be 
shirked  this  is  the  best  place  to  economize  nervous 
force.  Of  course,  if  it  is  done  at  all,  it  must  be  done 
honestly.  But  the  difference  between  rapid  glancing 
and  quick  final  judgment  in  such  matters,  and  min- 
ute perusing  and  prolonged  deliberation  in  each  case 
is  of  little  advantage  to  the  pupils  in  the  long  run, 
and  is  often  bought  at  excessive  cost  of  vitality  and 


268  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

strength  of  the  teacher.  Emphasize  essentials,  slight 
non-essentials.  Do  the  thing  that  counts.  Leave 
things  that  do  not  count  undone  or  get  them  done 
quickly.  Remember  that  physical  health,  mental 
elasticity,  and  freshness  and  vivacity  of  spirits  must 
be  maintained  at  all  costs  in  the  interests  of  the 
school  and  the  scholars  no  less  than  as  a  matter  of 
imperative  self-preservation.  The  wise  teacher  will 
say  to  himself,  "  I  must  know  the  lessons  I  teach." 
" I  must  do  some  reading  outside."  "I  must  take 
an  interest  in  my  individual  scholars."  "  I  must 
keep  myself  strong  and  happy  and  well."  "  These 
are  essential,  and  for  the  sake  of  these  things  I 
stand  ready  to  sacrifice  aU  mere  red  tape."  "I  stand 
ready  to  be  misunderstood  by  good  people  who  know 
nothing  of  the  strain  I  am  under."  "  I  stand  ready 
even  to  shrink  and  to  slight  minor  matters  when  it 
is  necessary  to  do  so  in  order  to  do  the  main  things 
well."  In  the  great  name  of  Aristotle,  then,  resolve 
to  observe  and  apply  this  fundamental  sense  of  pro- 
portion. Be  sure  that  what  you  do  is  right  for  you, 
under  the  circumstances  in  which  you  are  placed, 
with  the  definite  obligations  that  are  laid  upon  you. 
Never  mind  if  you  do  not  do  everything  that  other 
people  expect  you  to  do ;  if  you  do  not  do  things 
which,  though  good  in  themselves  and  right  for 
other  people  to  do,  in  your  specific  situation  for  you 
would  be  wrong.  In  other  words,  have  your  own 
individual  ends  perfectly  clear,  and  accept  or  reject 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    269 

the  various  calls  that  come  to  you  according  as  they 
further  or  hinder  these  clearly  grasped  individual 
aims. 

Now,  we  have  four  bits  of  advice  from  four  of 
the  world's  greatest  teachers.  There  remains  the 
counsel  of  the  greatest  tea<iher  of  all.  Christ  says 
to  the  teacher,  "  Make  the  interests  and  aims  of 
each  one  of  your  scholars  your  own."  Whether  a 
teacher  is  a  Christian  in  the  profoundest  sense  of 
the  term  depends  not  in  the  least  on  whether  he  is 
a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant,  a  Conservative  or  a 
Liberal.  It  depends  on  whether  the  teacher  has 
his  own  point  of  view,  his  personal  interests,  and 
then  regards  the  scholars  as  alien  beings  to  be  dealt 
with  as  the  rules  of  the  school  may  require  and  as 
his  own  personal  interest  and  reputation  may  sug- 
gest ;  or  whether  in  sympathy  and  generous  inter- 
est he  makes  the  life  and  problems  of  each  scholar 
a  genuine  part  of  the  problem  of  his  own  enlarged 
nature  and  generous  heart.  The  greatest  differ- 
ence between  teachers,  after  all,  is  that  in  this 
deepest  sense  some  teachers  are  Christians  and 
some  teachers  are  not.  The  teacher  who  is  not  a 
Christian  according  to  this  definition  will  work 
for  reputation  and  pay,  —  will  teach  what  is  re- 
quired and  rule  the  school  by  sheer  authority  and 
force.  Between  teacher  and  scholar  a  great  gulf 
wiU  be  fixed ;  the  only  bridges  across  that  gulf 
will  be  authority  and  constraint  on  the  part  of 


270  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

the  teacher,  fear  and  self-interest  on  the  part  of 
the  pupils.  Such  a  teacher  will  set  tasks  and  com- 
pel the  scholars  to  do  them.  Here  such  a  teacher's 
responsibility  will  end. 

Precisely  here,  where  the  unchristian  teacher's 
work  ends,  is  where  the  Christian  teacher's  best 
work  begins.  Instead  of  imposing  a  task  on  the 
scholars,  the  Christian  teacher  sets  before  scholars 
and  teacher  alike  a  task  which  they  together  must 
do ;  the  teacher  is  to  help  each  scholar  to  do  it  and 
each  scholar  is  to  help  the  teacher  to  get  this 
task  done.  It  is  a  common  work  in  which  they  are 
engaged.  If  they  succeed  it  is  a  common  satisfac- 
tion ;  if  any  individual  fails  it  is  a  common  sor- 
row. The  Christian  teacher  will  be  just  as  rigid  in 
his  requirements  as  the  unchristian  teacher,  but  the 
attitude  toward  the  doing  of  it  is  entirely  differ- 
ent. The  unchristian  teacher  says  to  the  scholars, 
"  Go  and  do  that  work :  I  shall  mark  you  and  pun- 
ish you  if  you  fail."  The  Christian  teacher  says, 
"  Come,  let  us  do  this  work  together ;  I  am  ready 
to  help  you  in  every  way  I  can,  and  I  want  each 
of  you  to  help  me."  The  Christian  teacher  looks 
forward  to  each  pupil's  future,  and  enters  sympa- 
thetically into  the  plans  which  the  child  has  for  him- 
self and  his  parents  have  for  him. 

Now  undoubtedly  this  Christian  attitude  toward 
each  scholar  is  pretty  expensive  of  the  teacher's 
time  and  strength.   Doubtless,  hitherto  you  have 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER  271 

thought  me  very  selfish,  hard-hearted,  and  parsi- 
monious in  the  counsel  I  have  been  giving.  I  have 
told  you  in  the  name  of  Epicurus  to  get  all  the 
pleasure  you  can;  in  the  name  of  the  Stoics  to 
shut  out  all  superfluous  griefs  and  worry;  in  the 
name  of  Plato  to  get  above  petty  details  and  live  a 
life  of  your  own,  apart  from  mere  humdrum  rou- 
tine ;  in  the  name  of  Aristotle  to  develop  a  sense 
of  proportion,  to  shirk  and  slight  and  exclude  a 
thousand  distractions  that  are  well  enough  for  other 
people,  but  which  you  cannot  afford.  But  in  giv- 
ing all  this  selfish,  hard-hearted,  coolly  calculated 
advice,  I  have  asked  you  to  save  yourselves  for 
this  Christian  work,  which  is  the  best  worth  while 
of  all.  Pour  yourselves  unreservedly,  without  stint 
or  measure,  into  the  lives  of  your  scholars.  See 
things  through  their  eyes;  feel  keenly  their  joys 
and  griefs.  Be  sure  that  you  share  in  sympathy 
and  helpfulness  every  task  you  lay  upon  them ; 
that  you  rejoice  in  every  success  they  achieve,  and 
that  you  are  even  more  sorry  than  they  for  every 
failure  they  make.  Be  a  leader,  not  a  driver,  of 
your  flock :  for  to  lead  is  Christ-like,  to  drive  is 
unchristian.  The  difference,  you  see,  between  the 
teacher  who  is  a  Christian  and  the  one  who  is  not, 
is  not  a  difference  of  doctrine  or  ritual  or  verbal 
profession.  It  is  a  difference  in  the  tone,  temper, 
and  spirit  of  the  teacher's  attitude  toward  the 
scholars.    It  is  a  hard  thing  to  define,  but  it  is 


272    THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

something  an  experienced  person  can  feel  before 
he  has  been  in  a  class-room  five  minutes.  In  one 
class-room  you  feel  the  tension  of  alien  and  an- 
tagonistic forces,  the  will  of  the  teacher  arrayed 
against  the  will  of  the  scholars,  and,  as  an  inevi- 
table consequence,  the  will  of  the  scholars  in  latent 
antagonism  to  the  wiU  of  the  teacher.  In  another 
class-room  there  is  tension,  to  be  sure,  as  there 
ought  to  be,  but  it  is  the  tension  of  one  strong, 
friendly,  united  wiU  of  teacher  and  scholar  directed 
against  their  great  common  tasks.  The  Christian 
spirit  alone,  without  sufficient  mental  equipment 
and  force  of  will,  will  not  teach  school  any  more 
than  it  will  manage  a  factory  or  win  a  game  of 
football  without  technical  training  and  equipment. 
All  this,  however,  I  am  taking  for  granted.  As- 
suming these  general  qualifications,  it  may  be  safely 
said  that  every  teacher  who  combines  the  five 
qualities  we  have  been  describing  will  find  teach- 
ing a  perpetual  joy  and  will  achieve  a  brilliant 
success. 

Such  are  the  five  points  of  personality  as  the 
world's  great  teachers  have  developed  them  and  as 
they  apply  specifically  to  the  work  of  the  teacher. 
Show  me  any  teacher  of  sufficient  mental  training 
and  qualifications  who  is  unpopular,  ineffective,  un- 
happy, and  I  will  guarantee  that  this  teacher  has  vio- 
lated one  or  more  of  these  five  principles  of  person- 
ality ;  either  he  has  neglected  diet,  exercise,  rest,  and 


THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER    273 

recreation,  and  failed  to  have  a  good  time ;  or  else  he 
has  wasted  his  nervous  substance  in  riotous  worry, 
and  spent  the  energy  needed  to  make  things  go 
right  to-day  in  regretting  what  went  wrong  yesterday 
or  anticipating  what  may  go  wrong  to-morrow;  or 
else  he  has  no  life  of  his  own  outside  of  the  school 
and  above  it,  from  which  he  comes  down  clothed 
with  fresh  inspiration  and  courage  to  meet  the  duties 
and  details  of  each  new  school  day ;  or  else  he  has 
missed  the  great  sense  of  proportion  and  squandered 
the  energies  which  should  have  been  devoted  to  the 
few  things  that  are  needful  on  a  variety  of  burdens 
which  the  importunity  of  others  or  the  false  con- 
scientiousness of  himself  had  laid  upon  him ;  or  else, 
and  this  is  by  far  the  most  common  and  serious 
cause,  he  has  failed  to  merge  his  own  life  in  the 
lives  of  the  scholars,  so  that  they  have  felt  him  a 
helper,  a  leader,  a  friend  in  the  solving  of  their  in- 
dividual problems  and  the  accomplishment  of  their 
common  work. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  will  guarantee  perfect  per- 
sonal success  to  any  well-trained  teacher  who  will 
faithfully  incorporate  these  five  principles  into  his 
personal  life.  The  teacher  who  is  healthy  and  happy 
with  Epicurus  nights  and  mornings,  holidays  and  va- 
cations, at  mealtime  and  between  meals  ;  who  faith- 
fully fortifies  his  soul  with  the  Stoic  defenses  against 
needless  regrets  and  superfluous  forebodings ;  who 
now  and  then  ascends  with  Plato  the  heights  from 


274  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  TEACHER 

which  he  sees  the  letters  of  his  life  writ  large,  and 
petty  annoyances  reduced  to  their  true  dimen- 
sions ;  who  applies  the  Aristotelian  sense  of  propor- 
tion to  the  distribution  of  his  energy,  so  that  the 
full  force  of  it  is  held  in  reserve  for  the  things  that 
are  really  worth  while,  and  finally  sees  in  the  lives 
of  his  scholars  the  supreme  object  for  which  all 
these  other  accumulations  and  savings  have  been 
made,  and  devotes  himself  joyfully  and  unreservedly 
to  the  common  work  he  tries  to  do  with  them,  for 
them,  and  through  them  for  their  lasting  good,  — 
this  teacher  can  no  more  help  being  a  personal 
success  as  a  teacher  than  the  sunlight  and  rain  can 
help  making  the  earth  the  fruitful  and  beautiful 
place  that  it  is. 


XIV 

The  Six  Partners  in  College  Administra- 
tion 

THE  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  raised 
the  question  of  academic  freedom  in  several 
cases:  at  Brown  University,  Chicago  University, 
Kansas  State  Agricultural  College,  and  Leland 
Stanford  Junior  University.  It  is  not  my  purpose 
to  discuss  any  of  these  cases.  For  every  college 
president  knows  that  there  are  many  things  on  the 
inside  of  such  questions  which  cannot  be  made  to 
appear  to  the  public  as  they  really  are.  What  one 
of  us  has  not,  time  and  again,  been  compelled  to 
hold  his  peace  while  the  public  was  making  all  sorts 
of  unjust  criticisms,  simply  because  telling  the  whole 
truth  would  do  more  harm  to  the  institution  and  to 
other  persons  than  the  criticism  could  do  to  us  ! 

This  question  of  academic  freedom  did  not  arise 
so  long  as  the  colleges  were  content  to  teach  Latin, 
Greek,  mathematics,  and  a  little  science  and  phi- 
losophy, for  the  simple  reason  that  nobody  cared 
much,  one  way  or  the  other,  what  was  taught  about 
these  things.  Most  of  these  subjects  were  so  formal 
and  dead  that  serious  difference  of  opinion  about 
them  was  impossible.    No  one  cared  to  interfere 


276  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

with  the  liberty  of  a  professor  to  translate  a  pas- 
sage of  Virgil,  to  solve  an  equation,  or  to  demon- 
strate a  proposition  in  any  way  he  might  please. 
Interference  with  liberty  comes  only  when  the  sub- 
jects taught  are  those  for  which  the  people  care. 
When  people  felt  that  theological  questions  were 
most  vital  to  their  welfare,  they  hedged  about  their 
theological  seminaries  with  creeds,  and  bound  pro- 
fessors to  teach  according  to  the  letter  of  the 
creed.  In  times  of  intense  political  activity,  as  in 
the  Revolution  and  the  Civil  War,  political  opin- 
ions were  the  battle-ground  of  academic  freedom. 
Now  that  economic  and  social  questions  have  come 
to  the  front,  it  is  with  these  that  troubles  have 
arisen.  It  is  no  accident  that  all  four  cases  cited 
above  arose  in  connection  with  utterances  on  eco- 
nomic and  social  questions.  Theological  persecutions 
we  have  inherited  in  connection  with  creeds,  fast 
growing  incredible,  to  which  chairs  of  instruction 
are  tied.  The  troubles  at  Union  and  Andover  came 
from  this  source ;  and  soon  or  late  every  seminary 
that  is  tied  to  a  creed  wiU  have  to  face  that  kind 
of  trouble.  If  there  is  less  persecution  of  heretics 
to-day  than  formerly,  we  have  reason  to  fear  that 
indifference  to  the  issues  is  the  cause.  Political  per- 
secution we  have  spasmodically  in  political  cam- 
paigns ;  but  the  storm  of  protest  which  such  perse- 
cution raises  is  so  intense  that  the  persecutors  suffer 
more  damage  than  the  persecuted. 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      277 

Social  and  economic  questions,  however,  are  des- 
tined to  divide  the  public  more  sharply  than  ever 
before.  Unless  we  can  come  to  a  clear  understand- 
ing as  to  the  mutual  duties  and  rights  of  the  sev- 
eral partners  in  college  administration,  professor- 
ships of  economics  and  sociology  will  be  as  perilous 
positions  in  a  democracy  as  chairs  of  politics  ever 
were  under  an  absolute  monarchy,  or  chairs  of  the- 
ology in  the  palmy  days  of  papal  power. 

Who,  then,  are  the  partners  in  coUege  administra- 
tion ?  The  parties  to  this  partnership  are  six.  First, 
the  founders,  donors,  and  benefactors.  Second,  the 
State.  Third,  the  trustees,  regents,  or  overseers. 
Fourth,  professors  and  instructors.  Fifth,  the  stu- 
dents. Sixth,  the  constituency  of  the  college,  that 
portion  of  the  public  from  which  money  and  stu- 
dents come,  and  to  whom  the  institution  must  look 
for  interestj  guidance,  and  support.  The  most  im- 
portant element  in  this  portion  of  the  public,  which 
I  have  called  the  constituency  of  the  institution,  is 
the  institution's  own  alumni. 

To  assign  to  each  of  these  six  parties  to  col- 
college  administration  their  respective  rights  and 
duties,  is  the  problem  which  we  must  try  to  solve. 
First,  the  rights  and  duties  of  founders,  donors,  and 
benefactors,  the  men  from  whom  the  money  comes. 
The  founder  has  a  right  to  determine  the  general 
purpose  and  scope  of  the  institution  which  he 
founds,  subject  to  the  approval  and  acceptance  of 


278  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

the  State.  He  has  the  right  to  select  the  first  trus- 
tees, and  to  outline  in  a  general  way  the  policy 
and  procedure  the  new  institution  shall  adopt. 
Subsequent  donors  and  benefactors  have  the  obvi- 
ous right  to  satisfy  themselves  as  to  the  efficiency 
of  the  trustees,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  policy  of  the 
institution  to  which  they  give  their  money.  They 
also  have  the  right  to  determine  to  what  particular 
departments,  within  the  general  scope  of  the  insti- 
tution, their  special  benefactions  shall  be  devoted. 
This  is  the  limit  of  the  donor's  right.  He  may  give 
or  he  may  not  give,  but  when  he  has  given  his 
money,  it  should  be  as  completely  beyond  his  indi- 
vidual control  as  is  a  thrown  stone  after  it  has  left 
the  hand.  A  donor  has  no  more  right  to  dictate  what 
views  an  institution  shall  teach  than  a  stockholder 
of  a  steamship  company  has  a  right  to  direct  the 
pilot  how  he  shall  steer  the  ship  to  which  a  thou- 
sand lives  have  been  intrusted.  The  moment  a 
donor  has  given  his  money,  he  has  entered  into  a 
partnership  with  the  five  other  parties  to  an  insti- 
tution, and  his  rights  must  be  limited  by  the  rights 
which  belong  to  them.  Neither  may  he  legitimately 
draw  up  a  creed  or  statement  of  opinion  which  the 
professors  in  the  institution  shall  be  bound  to  teach. 
To  do  that  would  be  like  sending  a  boat  to  sea  with 
the  tiller  lashed  in  position,  and  with  instructions 
to  the  sailors  on  no  account  to  touch  it,  even  though 
the  boat  might  be  making  straight  for  the  icebergs 


IN  COLLEGE   ADMINISTRATION      279 

or  the  rocks.  The  attempt  of  a  donor  to  dictate  the 
views  which  a  professor  shall  teach  is  to  arrogate 
to  himself  the  attributes  of  omniscience,  omnipo- 
tence, and  immortality,  —  an  arrogance  of  which  no 
mortal  man  would  care  to  be  guilty.  This  limitation 
of  a  donor's  rights  may  seem  severe  and  extreme, 
yet  it  is  the  foundation  stone  on  which  academic 
freedom  rests. 

A  donor  may  indicate  the  general  purpose  to 
which  his  gift  shall  be  devoted.  He  has  no  right 
to  dictate  the  specific  views  which  shall  be  incul- 
cated under  that  general  purpose.  Wherever  found- 
ers, donors,  or  charters  have  ventured  to  prophesy, 
evil  has  resulted.  Wise  as  was  Johns  Hopkins,  and 
great  as  was  his  gift,  how  much  wiser  he  would 
have  been,  and  how  much  more  useful  would  have 
been  his  gift,  had  he  not  tied  his  institution  to  the 
uncertain  fortunes  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Rail- 
road !  Much  as  Clark  University  under  its  able 
president  has  been  able  to  accomplish,  it  would 
have  done  five  times  as  much  if  the  founder  had 
merely  given  his  gift  in  cash,  and  turned  over  aU 
questions  of  building,  equipment,  personnel,  and 
curriculum  to  the  president  and  the  very  compe- 
tent board  of  trustees  whom  he  selected.  Other 
institutions  have  failed  to  get  financial  support  be- 
cause the  founders  have  been  supposed  to  carry 
the  keys  of  the  safe  in  their  pockets. 

Financial  interference,  however,  is  the  least  seri- 


280  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

ous  of  the  errors  of  founders  and  benefactors.  For, 
as  a  rule,  finance  is  the  one  thing  in  which  such 
founders  are  experts.  Their  interference  becomes 
intolerable  and  fatal  the  moment  they  attempt  to 
dictate  the  specific  opinions  which  shall  or  shall 
not  be  taught.  It  were  better  that  a  million  doUars 
should  be  sunk  in  Boston  Harbor,  Lake  Michi- 
gan, or  San  Francisco  Bay,  than  that  the  donor 
of  it  should  influence,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the 
utterance  of  a  professor  at  Cambridge,  Chicago,  or 
Berkeley.  For  an  institution  of  learning  is  a  part- 
nership, and  the  determination  of  precisely  what 
shall  or  shall  not  be  taught  rests  chiefly  with  the 
other  partners. 

The  second  of  the  six  partners  in  the  college 
is  the  State.  The  contribution  of  the  State  con- 
sists in  exemption  from  taxation,  which  increases 
by  one  third  the  value  of  productive  funds,  and 
the  degree-conferring  power,  which  gives  to  the 
graduates  of  the  college  official  recognition  and 
standing  in  the  conmiunity.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
State  to  protect  the  public  against  misdirection  of 
funds  and  the  cheapening  of  degrees.  An  institu- 
tion founded  for  the  propagation  of  alchemy,  as- 
trology, palmistry,  theosophy,  or  Christian  science 
would  have  no  claim  to  exemption  from  taxation 
or  the  conf-erring  of  degrees.  For  some  of  these 
subjects  have  been  proved  to  be  without  founda- 
tion ;  and  others,  to  say  the  least,  have  yet  to  make 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      281 

good  their  claim  to  public  confidence.  There  is  no 
reason  why  the  public  at  large  should  contribute  to 
the  support  of  such  institutions,  or  place  confidence 
in  their  graduates.  Consequently  a  charter  grant- 
ing exemption  from  taxation  and  the  degree-con- 
ferring power  to  institutions  of  this  kind  would 
be  a  partnership  of  the  State  in  purely  private 
interests.  Furthermore,  the  State  should  refuse 
charters  to  institutions  which  propose  to  duplicate 
means  of  instruction  which  are  already  adequate. 
The  State  should  not  support  ten  colleges  when 
^Ye  are  adequate  to  serve  its  educational  needs. 
Again,  charters  should  be  refused  to  institutions 
which  fail  to  give  promise  of  adequate  means  for 
the  prosecution  of  the  work  they  undertake.  Some 
indulgence  doubtless  is  necessary  to  struggling  in- 
stitutions in  new  communities.  On  the  frontier,  an 
institution  may  be  founded  on  a  lot  of  land  given 
to  it  as  a  means  of  booming  the  town,  the  build- 
ings may  be  built  by  mortgaging  the  land,  the  pro- 
fessors may  be  employed  with  money  raised  by  a 
mortgage  on  the  buildings,  and  finally  the  money 
to  prevent  foreclosure  may  be  raised  from  credu- 
lous donors  in  the  East.  I  once  visited  such  a  col- 
lege and  inquired  of  the  janitor,  who  was  a  student 
in  the  institution,  as  to  the  financial  basis  and 
prospects  of  the  institution.  He  told  me  that  it 
had  no  president,  only  four  professors,  and  thirty- 
two  students.   When  more  closely  questioned,  he 


282  THE  SIX   PARTNERS 

confessed  that  of  those  thirty-two  students,  thirty- 
were  in  the  preparatory  department.  I  asked  him 
if  there  were  any  other  competing  institutions,  and 
he  replied  that  there  was  a  State  university  in  the 
city,  and  that  a  Presbyterian  college  was  in  pro- 
cess of  erection.  When  asked  as  to  the  financial 
support  of  the  institution,  he  replied  that  it  had 
the  entire  denomination  of  the  State  behind  it.  I 
asked  him  how  strong  the  denomination  was  in 
that  State,  and  he  replied  that  there  were  nine 
churches  in  the  State,  of  which  two  were  self- 
supporting.  In  new  communities  it  may  be  neces- 
sary to  encourage  such  infant  industries  by  grant- 
ing charters  with  great  freedom,  trusting  to  natural 
selection  to  weed  out,  in  due  time,  the  feebler 
ones;  but  in  established  communities  it  is  the 
duty  of  the  State  to  assure  itself  that  a  proposed 
institution  wiU  have  sufficient  means  to  give  the 
instruction  which  it  offers  by  approved  methods 
and  under  competent  instructors.  Where  strong 
institutions  are  so  numerous  and  easily  available 
as  they  are  in  most  of  our  Eastern  States,  it  is 
a  great  wrong  to  the  community  to  encourage  the 
establishment  of  educational  weaklings,  which  give 
an  inferior  education  to  the  deluded  students  who 
resort  to  them,  and  which  eke  out  a  precarious 
existence  by  systematic  begging.  It  is  the  duty  of 
prospective  donors  and  benefactors  to  discriminate 
against  these  feeble  and   struggling   institutions. 


IN   COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      283 

The  wise  donor  will  see  that  the  doUar  which  he 
gives  is  multiplied  by  every  dollar  that  the  institu- 
tion to  which  it  is  given  already  has.  To  give  to 
an  institution  which  has  only  one  or  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  of  endowment  is  to  make  his 
gift  of  much  less  educational  value  than  if  it  were 
given  to  an  institution  which  had  several  millions. 
"  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given  "  is  a  law  which 
wise  friends  of  education  should  strictly  observe  in 
their  gifts. 

The  State  should  refuse  to  grant  charters  for  the 
promulgation  of  individual  opinions  and  prejudices. 
It  should  not  allow  an  institution  to  bind  itself 
to  teach  either  free  trade  or  protection,  either  the 
gold  standard  or  the  free  and  unlimited  coinage  of 
silver  at  the  ratio  of  sixteen  to  one,  either  imperi- 
alism or  anti-imperialism,  either  private  or  munici- 
pal ownership  of  public-service  corporations,  either 
Trinitarianism  or  Unitarianism,  either  universal 
salvation  or  the  endless  punishment  of  the  wicked, 
either  free  will  or  determinism,  either  socialism  or 
individualism,  either  sacerdotalism  or  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  local  church.  These  are  matters 
in  which  competent  persons  disagree.  One  side  of 
these  questions  has  as  much  right  to  be  impartially 
presented  as  the  other.  The  public,  as  such,  has 
no  peculiar  and  exclusive  interest  in  either  one ; 
consequently  the  State  should  not  enter  into  part- 
nership with  either  party  to  these  and  kindred  con- 


284  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

troversies.  There  is,  however,  a  way  in  which  the 
views  of  private  parties  may  legitimately  be  taught 
under  the  protection  and  sanction  of  the  State. 
As  has  already  been  said,  the  founders  and  donors 
have  a  right  to  select  the  trustees  who  are  to  exe- 
cute their  trust.  The  State  need  not  inquire  into 
the  views  of  the  donors  or  of  the  trustees  whom 
they  select.  The  State  deals  with  both  donors  and 
trustees  as  citizens ;  it  does  not  inquire  whether  they 
are  individualists  or  socialists,  protectionists  or  free- 
traders, Catholic  or  Protestant,  orthodox  or  liberal. 
If  they  are  sufficiently  intelligent  and  competent 
to  administer  the  trust  imposed  upon  them,  the 
State  asks  no  questions  about  their  views.  Con- 
sequently, it  is  perfectly  possible  for  Catholics  to 
establish  a  Catholic  university,  controlled  by  Cath- 
olic trustees  under  the  sanction  of  the  State.  The 
State  does  not  thereby  become  a  partner  in  their 
peculiar  views,  as  it  would  if  the  requirement  to 
teach  those  peculiar  views  were  embodied  in  the 
charter  of  the  institution.  Furthermore,  where  the 
character  of  the  institution  is  determined  by  men 
rather  than  by  document,  there  is  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  change  with  changing  conditions.  This 
method  of  securing  the  teaching  of  special  views 
is  well  recognized  among  us.  In  future  charters 
this  should  be  the  only  method  of  propagating 
special  opinions  which  is  tolerated  and  sanctioned 
by  the  State. 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION       285 

The  third  partner  in  an  educational  institution 
is  the  board  of  trustees.  It  is  their  duty  to  invest 
the  funds  and  to  devote  the  income  of  the  institution 
to  the  needs  for  virhich  it  is  established.  The  expert 
financier  is  an  indispensable  member  of  every  such 
board  of  trustees,  for  the  waste  or  misapplication 
of  funds  is  absolutely  fatal  to  the  life  and  work  of 
the  institution. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  expert  financier  on  a 
board  of  trustees  is  the  man  of  broad  educational 
ideas.  This  is  the  prime  qualification  of  the  president 
of  the  institution.  It  is  a  serious  mistake  to  put 
the  mere  financier  or  the  ornate  figurehead  or  the 
man  of  popular  gifts  or  the  prominent  ecclesiastic 
at  the  head  of  an  institution.  These  other  qualities 
are,  indeed,  desirable,  but  not  essential,  for  a  pres- 
ident. The  expert  financial  ability  may  be  supplied 
from  the  trustees  ;  but  the  trustees  as  a  whole  can 
never  give  the  educational  direction  to  an  institu- 
tion. That  should  be  centred  in  one  person,  and 
that  person  should  be  the  president.  The  president 
should  be  at  the  head  both  of  the  governing  board 
and  the  faculty  of  instruction.  Wherever  the  board 
of  government  and  instruction  is  not  thus  united  in 
one  head,  there  is  sure  to  creep  in  all  the  ineffi- 
ciency and  indirection  which  is  represented  to  our 
minds  by  the  word  "lobbying."  Our  theological 
seminaries  which  have  not  been  connected  with  uni- 
versities until  recently  have,  as  a  rule,  been  organ- 


286  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

ized  on  this  basis  of  mutual  exclusion.  As  a  result 
their  management  has  been  far  below  the  level  of  the 
efficiency  and  the  mutual  understanding  and  good 
will  which  characterize  other  institutions  of  learn- 
ing. Tied  to  creeds  and  governed  by  trustees  who 
have  known  comparatively  little  of  the  inner  work- 
ing of  the  institution  committed  to  their  charge, 
these  theological  seminaries  have  lagged  far  behind 
other  institutions  of  learning  in  the  efficiency  and 
harmony  of  their  administration. 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  trustees  to  elect  a  president 
and  professors.  In  this  election  they  are  under 
obligation  to  lay  aside  their  private  interests,  pre- 
judices, and  predilections,  and,  with  due  regard  to 
the  known  purposes  of  founders  and  donors,  to 
select  the  best  available  men  for  the  chairs  of  in- 
struction. This  is  one  place  in  the  world  where  in- 
fluence and  patronage  should  never  be  permitted  to 
enter.  In  the  selection  of  professors,  the  judgment 
of  the  allied  departments  of  instruction  should 
have  great  weight.  The  views  of  the  faculty  as  a 
whole  should  be  consulted ;  but  the  final  authority 
should  rest  with  the  trustees,  and  should  be  exer- 
cised on  the  recommendation  of  the  president.  As 
a  rule,  a  man  who  is  indorsed  by  the  professors 
in  the  same  or  closely  allied  departments,  who  is 
approved  by  the  faculty  as  a  whole,  and  who  is  re- 
conunended  by  the  president,  should  be  elected  by 
the  trustees  almost  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  for  the 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION       287 

president  and  the  professors  in  allied  departments 
are  presumably  experts  in  teclmical  matters  of  edu- 
cation, while  a  board  of  trustees  composed  of  men 
whose  chief  attention  is  given  to  business  and  pro- 
fessional life  are  presumably  not  educational  ex- 
perts. At  the  same  time,  the  trustees  always  have 
the  right  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons  to  refuse 
to  elect  persons  so  nominated.  While  they  may  re- 
ject a  nominee,  however,  it  would  hardly  be  within 
their  province  to  select  a  candidate  of  their  own 
and  force  him  upon  the  faculty  over  the  protest  of 
the  president.  The  ultimate  responsibility  for  the 
educational  conduct  of  the  institution  rests  with  the 
president.  He  cannot  expect  to  have  everything 
which  he  desires  done  by  the  trustees,  but  he  has 
a  right  to  insist  that  no  professor  shall  be  imposed 
upon  him  against  his  will.  The  election  of  a  pro- 
fessor or  instructor  whom  the  president  did  not 
approve  would  be  equivalent  to  a  vote  of  want  of 
confidence  in  the  president,  and  would  naturally  be 
followed  by  his  resignation.  In  municipal  affairs, 
the  tendency  is  more  and  more  toward  the  centrali- 
zation of  power.  This  is  even  more  desirable  in  the 
conduct  of  educational  institutions.  The  men  who 
have  clear  views  of  educational  policy,  who  have  a 
just  sense  of  proportion  between  the  several  depart- 
ments of  instruction,  who  are  able  to  judge  men  not 
merely  for  their  individual  attainments,  but  for  their 
capacity  to  fit  into  a  complicated  intellectual  ma- 


288  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

cliine,  and  contribute  to  the  whole  the  most  which 
this  particular  position,  under  the  given  circum- 
stances, is  able  to  render,  are  not  numerous.  Either 
a  president  is  such  a  man,  or  he  is  not.  If  he  is  such 
a  person,  the  wisest  thing  a  board  of  trustees  can 
do  is  to  trust  him  implicitly.  If  he  is  not  such  a 
person,  the  sooner  they  get  rid  of  him  the  better. 
Autocracy  tempered  by  assassination  is  the  ideal 
coUege  government.  By  autocracy  I  do  not  mean 
arbitrariness  or  conceit  or  caprice.  The  educational 
autocrat  should  consult  the  reasonable  claims  of 
students,  seek  the  advice  of  the  faculty  individually 
and  collectively,  confer  with  members  of  his  board 
of  trustees,  get  the  views  of  experts  in  other  in- 
stitutions as  to  the  qualifications  of  his  candidate. 
But  when  his  mind  is  made  up  as  a  result  of  these 
many  inquiries  and  varied  considerations,  he  has 
a  right  to  expect  his  judgment  to  carry  more 
weight  than  that  of  merchants  or  judges  or  clergy- 
men, who,  however  eminent  in  those  iBelds  to  which 
they  have  given  special  attention,  cannot  in  the  na- 
ture of  the  case  have  given  as  much  consideration 
to  the  particular  problem  in  hand  as  it  is  his  pre- 
rogative and  duty  to  do.  The  president  has  a  right 
to  have  each  professor  in  the  institution  one  whom 
he  has  either  accepted  from  his  predecessor  when 
he  took  the  office,  or  whom  he  has  personally  ap- 
proved at  the  time  of  his  election.  There  are  great 
risks  in  trusting  so  much  power  to  any  individual. 


m  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      289 

In  the  hands  of  an  unwise  man  such  power  may 
harm  an  institution  for  a  generation,  but  the  pol- 
icy of  divided  counsels  and  appointments  without 
expert  approval  is  an  even  greater  risk,  and  will 
ruin  an  institution  forever. 

The  fourth  partner  in  a  college  is  the  faculty. 
It  is  the  duty  of  a  professor  to  be  the  master  of  his 
department.  He  must  know  his  subject.  Know- 
ledge is  not  an  aggregate  of  isolated  propositions ; 
it  is  not  merely  an  amount  of  information.  It  is 
the  apprehension  of  the  whole  system  of  relations 
which  his  department  includes,  ability  to  see  each 
fact  in  the  light  of  aU  the  other  facts  to  which 
it  is  intimately  related,  the  power  to  grasp  the 
whole  system  to  which  the  facts  belong,  the  capa- 
city to  bring  aU  that  is  known  about  a  subject  to 
bear  upon  any  problem  that  may  arise  within  the 
department  of  knowledge  to  which  it  belongs.  A 
professor  must  be  able  to  teach  the  whole  subject 
whenever  he  teaches  any  part  of  it,  to  answer  off- 
hand any  ordinary  question  that  may  arise  in  con- 
nection with  it,  or  at  least,  if  he  cannot  answer  it, 
to  point  the  inquirer  to  the  sources  where  the  an- 
swer may  be  found,  if  it  is  answerable.  The  pro- 
fessor is  the  man  through  whom  a  department  of 
knowledge  lives  and  thinks  and  speaks.  If  the 
oracle  is  dumb,  if  he  evades  legitimate  questions  or 
gives  wrong  answers  without  promptly  acknowledg- 
ing his  error,  he  is  not  a  real  professor  at  all ;  he 


290  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

is  unfit  for  his  place,  and  he  should  be  removed  at 
once.  Again,  if  a  professor  knows  a  subject  but 
cannot  impart  it  as  a  living  whole,  so  that  it  will 
live  and  grow  in  the  minds  of  honest  and  earnest 
students,  if  he  teaches  the  words  of  the  book,  or  the 
mere  letter  of  his  own  lectures,  or  the  equally  dead 
contents  of  his  verbal  memory,  he  is  incompetent, 
and  should  be  discharged.  The  students  in  our 
American  institutions  are  very  keen  and  competent 
critics  on  this  point.  Disorder  in  the  class-room 
springs  from  this  source  more  frequently  than  from 
any  other.  The  students  render  a  valuable  service 
to  education  in  helping  to  weed  out  these  incom- 
petent professors.  As  Dr.  G.  Stanley  Hall  says, 
"Youthful  sentiment  is  right.  There  is  nothing 
more  worthy  of  being  the  butt  of  all  the  horseplay 
of  ephebic  wit  or  practical  joke  than  an  instructor 
from  whose  soul  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity  has 
vanished,  who  has  ceased  to  know  and  grow,  and 
who  serves  up  the  dry  husks  of  former  knowledge 
and  peddles  second  and  third  hand  information, 
warmed  up  from  year  to  year,  rather  than  opening 
new  living  fountains  in  which  the  burning  thirst  of 
youth  can  be  slaked.  The  latter's  instincts  are  far 
wiser  than  they  know,  for  iconoclasm  is  never  better 
directed  than  against  the  literalist,  formalist,  and 
sophronist."  It  must  be  frankly  confessed  that  as 
a  rule  American  students,  in  time  past,  have  been 
better  judges  than  presidents  and  boards  of  trustees 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      291 

of  the  fitness  or  unfitness  of  professors  for  their 
places,  and  that  they  have  shown  a  courage,  enter- 
prise, and  efficiency  in  the  discipline  of  incompetent 
professors  which  presidents  and  trustees  have  sadly 
lacked.  Like  all  forms  of  natural  selection,  this 
discipline  of  incompetent  professors  by  students  is 
merciless ;  but  it  is  in  the  long  run  beneficent.  It 
protects  the  colleges  from  a  horde  of  morally  good 
but  intellectually  weak,  dull,  dry,  dead  professors. 
At  last  the  presidents  themselves  have  discovered 
a  way  of  solving  this  problem  which  combines  effi- 
ciency with  apparent  tender-heartedness.  They 
take  advantage  of  the  elective  system  to  introduce 
young  and  inspiring  instructors,  offering  courses 
that  compete  with  the  courses  of  the  dead  professor. 
It  is  expensive,  involving  temporary  duplication  of 
salaries.  But  in  time  it  proves  effective.  The  man 
who  in  open  competition  fails  to  draw  his  fair  pro- 
portion of  students,  and  that  without  resorting  to 
"  snap  "  courses,  has  the  propriety  of  his  resignation 
pointed  out  to  him  in  terms  which  everybody  else 
can  read,  if  he  cannot.  And  in  due  time  the  desired 
resignation  is  forthcoming.  In  the  application  of 
this  principle,  proportion,  not  numbers  alone,  has  to 
be  considered.  For  courses  in  advanced  mathemat- 
ics or  physics  never  can  appeal  to  numbers  as  do 
elementary  courses  in  literature,  history,  and  econo- 
mics. It  is  noticed  that  whenever  this  automatic  nat- 
ural selection  of  professors  is  applied  through  the 


292  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

elective  system,  there  is  an  immediate  falling  off, 
if  not  an  absolute  discontinuance,  of  the  artificial 
selection  by  irritation  and  horseplay  and  practical 
jokes  on  the  part  of  the  students. 

Removal  of  professors  for  incompetence  is  a  duty 
of  trustees  and  presidents  which  they  have  never 
half  lived  up  to.  To  shift  this  duty  onto  students 
as  has  been  done  in  the  past,  or  onto  the  elective 
system,  as  is  being  done  at  present,  is  cowardly 
negligence.  The  incompetent  man  should  be  dis- 
missed at  the  first  opportunity.  Academic  freedom 
demands  it.  For  the  truth  has  a  right  to  be  uttered 
through  a  voice  competent  to  proclaim  it.  Kindness 
to  the  incompetent  is  treason  to  the  truth,  a  be- 
trayal of  the  rights  of  the  students.  Not  one  appli- 
cant in  ten  for  a  college  professorship  is  fit  for  the 
position  for  which  he  applies.  The  most  ominous 
sign  in  American  education  to-day  is  the  fact  that 
a  certain  class  of  institutions  are  filling  up  their 
chairs  with  men  who  have  indeed  met  the  techni- 
cal requirements  of  graduate  study,  men  who  are 
capped  in  a  thesis  and  gowned  in  a  doctor's  degree, 
but  who  lack  the  grasp  of  their  subject  as  a  living, 
growing  whole. 

So  much  for  a  professor's  duty  to  his  subject  and 
to  his  students.  His  next  duty  is  to  his  coUege. 
Egotism  and  individualism  are  inconsistent  with 
the  harmonious  working  of  a  faculty.  Unless  a 
man  can  be  courteous  and  generous  in  his  relations 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      293 

with  his  colleagues  and  can  cooperate  with  them 
harmoniously  and  good-naturedly  in  common  work, 
he  has  no  place  on  a  coUege  faculty.  This  matter 
is  much  more  important  in  small  colleges  than  in 
large  universities.  The  egotist  who  would  make 
interminable  trouble  in  the  small  circle  of  a  country 
coUege  may  be  swallowed  up  and  utilized  to  good 
advantage  in  a  university  which  is  large  enough  to 
ignore  the  personal  equation  of  the  individual.  The 
first  few  years  of  a  professor's  appointment  should 
be  regarded  as  strictly  provisional  and  temporary ; 
and  if  incompatibility  of  temper  develops  in  these 
early  years,  it  is  safe  ground  for  refusal  to  renew 
the  appointment.  Unless  a  professor  is  prepared 
to  do  a  good  deal  of  unrewarded  drudgery,  and  to 
cooperate  with  others  in  plans  of  which  he  does  not 
altogether  individually  approve,  and  to  be  at  times 
the  agent  of  policies  to  which  he  cannot  give  his 
hearty  personal  assent,  above  all  if  he  cannot  re- 
cognize that  other  people  have  as  much  right  to 
their  point  of  view  as  he  has  to  his  own,  he  never 
will  make  the  most  useful  member  of  a  college 
faculty. 

Finally,  a  professor  is  under  obligation  to  respect 
the  constituency  of  the  college.  Precisely  what  is 
meant  by  this  constituency  will  be  considered  later. 
A  professor  has  no  right,  deliberately  and  inten- 
tionally, to  offend  the  friends  and  supporters  of 
the  institution  which  he  is  employed  to  serve.    If 


294  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

he  18  a  believer  in  the  gold  standard,  he  has  no 
right  to  denounce  the  advocates  of  free  silver  as 
thieves  and  robbers.  If  he  is  a  believer  in  free 
trade,  he  has  no  right  to  call  protectionists  robbers 
and  plunderers  of  the  poor.  If  he  is  an  anti-impe- 
rialist, he  has  no  right  to  call  expansionists  hard 
names.  For  the  adherents  to  these  views  to  which 
he  is  opposed  have  certain  rights  in  the  institution 
to  which  he  belongs.  They  contribute  indirectly, 
through  its  exemption  from  taxation,  to  its  support. 
They  send  their  children  to  it  for  education.  They 
look  to  it  and  to  its  graduates  for  counsel  in  pro- 
fessional, and  guidance  in  public  affairs.  He  has 
no  right  to  become  an  agitator  in  behalf  of  views 
and  measures  which  are  repugnant  to  considerable 
portions  of  the  constituency  of  the  institution, — no 
right,  I  say,  to  do  these  things  as  a  professor.  If 
he  wishes  to  do  them  as  an  individual,  he  of  course 
has  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  But  he  should  first 
hand  in  his  resignation.  In  a  free  country  every 
man  has  a  right  to  be  a  martyr  to  any  cause  which 
he  believes  to  be  worthy  of  his  individual  sacrifice. 
But  no  professor  has  the  right  to  lay  the  institu- 
tion which  he  serves  upon  the  altar  of  his  own 
martyr  zeal.  An  institution  stands  for  the  accu- 
mulated wisdom  of  the  world.  To  set  that  wisdom 
forth  in  due  proportion  is  its  prime  purpose.  To 
sacrifice  its  chief  function  for  the  sake  of  some 
special  view  which  an  individual  may  desire  to 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      295 

advocate,  is  a  wrong  to  the  institution  which  no 
individual  has  a  right  to  inflict. 

In  placing  this  limit  on  the  utterance  of  profes- 
sors, there  is  involved  no  unreasonable  restriction 
of  liberty.  As  has  been  said,  if  a  man  feels  called 
upon  to  become  an  agitator,  he  is  free  to  leave  the 
university.  More  than  that,  every  professor  is  at 
perfect  liberty  to  give  dignified  and  moderate  ex- 
pression to  whatever  views  on  political  and  social 
questions  he  may  hold.  In  private  conversation, 
in  response  to  inquiry  from  the  newspapers,  even 
in  a  public  speech,  he  is  at  liberty  to  set  forth 
whatever  views  he  holds  and  feels  called  upon  to 
express.  In  doing  so,  however,  he  should  never 
forget  the  dignity  and  impartiality  and  courtesy 
which  his  position  as  an  intellectual  servant  of 
the  public  must  always  impose  upon  him.  The 
question  of  academic  freedom,  at  this  point,  is 
generally  more  a  question  of  manners  than  of 
morals,  more  a  matter  of  tone  and  temper  and 
emphasis  than  of  conviction.  The  distinction  which 
Mr.  Cleveland  attempted  to  draw  between  a  mem- 
ber of  a  party  and  an  offensive  partisan,  is  one 
which  applies  to  this  question  of  a  professor's  free- 
dom of  speech.  Membership  in  a  political  party 
and  frank  avowal  of  one's  views  on  political  and 
social  questions  are  perfectly  consistent  with  the 
position  of  a  professor.  Neither  president  nor  trus- 
tee nor  donor  has  the  slightest  right  to  inquire 


296  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

into  a  professor's  views  for  the  purposes  of  disci- 
pline or  removal,  nor  to  prevent  the  reasonable  and 
moderate  expression  of  such  views.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  president  and  a  board  of  trustees  have 
both  the  right  and  duty  to  suggest  to  a  professor 
that  the  immoderate  and  aggressive  and  vitupera- 
tive reiteration  of  views  which  are  repugnant  to  a 
large  portion  of  the  constituency  of  an  institution 
are  inconsistent  with  his  largest  usefulness  as  a 
professor,  and  if  he  persists  in  such  utterances,  to 
notify  him  to  choose  between  the  career  of  an  agi- 
tator and  a  professor.  Every  relationship  implies 
both  rights  and  duties.  A  professor  has  duties  to 
an  institution  as  well  as  rights  in  it.  It  is  the  duty 
of  the  president  and  trustees  of  an  institution  to 
protect  a  professor  in  his  reasonable  rights,  and  to 
insist  on  his  regard  for  the  duties  and  obligations 
which  his  membership  in  the  institution  involves. 

The  fifth  partner  in  a  college  is  the  body  of 
students.  Academic  freedom  is  as  necessary  to  the 
students  as  to  any  other  part  in  the  university.  In 
early  college  days,  no  provision  was  made  for  the 
free  life  of  the  students ;  accordingly  they  created 
such  a  sphere  for  themselves.  By  robbing  the  hen- 
roosts of  neighboring  farmers,  translating  live  stock 
to  the  roofs  of  college  buildings  and  establishing 
them  in  the  recitation  rooms,  by  greasing  black- 
boards and  barricading  lecture-rooms,  by  torment- 
ing tutors  and  annoying  freshmen,  —  the  students 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMlNISTRAlION      297 

made  for  themselves  an  artificial  world  in  which 
they  foimd  the  freedom  that  the  rigid  curriculum 
and  the  paternal  discipline  of  the  college  refused  to 
provide  for  them.  A  few  of  the  wiser  presidents  of 
those  days  recognized  the  educational  and  spiritual 
necessity  of  such  a  vent  for  youthful  spirits,  and 
were  content  to  perfunctorily  deplore  such  acts, 
without  being  too  strenuous  in  punishing  culprits ; 
but  no  one  was  wise  or  strong  enough  to  provide 
the  real  freedom  which  alone  could  supersede  it. 

The  necessity  of  freedom  to  student  life  has  at 
length  gained  official  recognition.  Dr.  William  T. 
Harris  in  his  "  Psychologic  Foundations  of  Educa- 
tion "  says :  — 

"  Wherever  there  is  much  pressure  laid  on  the 
individual,  there  the  reaction  is  violent,  and  pupils 
in  a  governed  school  must  have  their  forms  of  re- 
action. In  a  coUege,  where  the  pressure  of  prescrip- 
tion is  far  greater,  the  reaction  produces  secret 
societies,  college  songs,  hazing,  initiations,  pranks 
on  the  citizens,  etc.  The  study  of  a  dead  language, 
abstruse  mathematics,  and  the  discipline  far  re- 
moved from  the  ordinary  life  of  the  age,  produces 
self-estrangement ;  and  the  student  preserves  his 
elasticity  in  the  meantime  by  forming  Greek-letter 
societies  wherein  he  caricatures  his  daily  studies, 
mocks  them  with  inextinguishable  laughter,  and 
forms  for  himself  the  consciousness  of  a  new  life, 
—  a  coUege  life  of  his  own  creation.   He  hazes  the 


298  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

members  of  the  lower  classes,  and  initiates  them 
into  the  artificial  college  life  by  rites  well  planned 
to  shock  the  traditions  of  civil  order." 

In  more  recent  years,  improved  laboratory  facili- 
ties, the  increased  use  of  the  library,  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  elective  system,  and  the  advent  of  ath- 
letics have  brought  into  student  life  a  real  freedom, 
and  to  that  extent  have  superseded  the  necessity  of 
that  artificial  freedom  which,  in  former  days,  the 
students  were  compelled  to  carve  out  for  themselves. 
No  man  can  grow  in  character  unless  he  is  doing 
freely  and  gladly  something  which  he  likes  to  do,  — 
something  into  which  he  can  put  the  whole  energy 
of  his  will,  the  whole  enthusiasm  of  his  heart.  The 
modern  college  provides  this  freedom  in  study,  in 
athletics,  and  in  a  more  dignified  and  enjoyable 
social  life  of  the  students  among  themselves.  The 
elective  system  allows  and  encourages  the  student 
to  throw  his  whole  energy  into  congenial  intellect- 
ual tasks  ;  athletics  afford  him  a  sphere  in  which 
he  can  do  something  as  well  as  it  can  be  done,  and 
reap  the  glory  of  it  for  himself  and  for  his  uni- 
versity; life  in  chapter  houses  and  college  clubs 
gives  the  youth  a  sense  of  proprietorship  and  re- 
sponsibility for  the  conduct  of  his  own  affairs  which 
he  never  felt  so  long  as  he  lived  in  dormitories 
erected  by  the  college,  and  ate  his  meals  at  long 
tables  in  the  college  commons.  If  the  disorders 
which  used  to  mark  the  coUege  dormitory  life,  with 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      299 

the  attendant  breaking  in  of  doors  and  smashing 
of  furniture,  if  the  rude  manners  and  biscuit  bat- 
tles, like  that  at  Harvard  in  which  the  historian 
Parkman  so  nearly  lost  his  eyesight,  have  disap- 
peared, it  is  not  because  they  failed  to  perform 
an  absolutely  indispensable  educational  function  in 
the  college  of  their  day,  but  because  a  wiser  educa- 
tional policy  has  provided  spheres  of  freedom  by 
which  these  rougher  disciplines  in  independence  have 
been  superseded.  We  can  never  make  men  out  of 
the  boys  who  come  to  us  unless,  in  some  form  or 
other,  we  give  them  a  career  in  which  to  work  out 
freely  what  is  in  them.  Wherever  prescription  and 
paternalism  undertake  to  domineer  the  life  of  the 
students,  there  we  are  sure  to  find  either  lawlessness, 
rebellion,  and  all  manner  of  boisterous  mischief,  or 
else  the  product  of  such  an  institution  will  be  a  lot 
of  good-for-nothing,  effeminate,  namby-pamby  weak- 
lings. The  only  way  to  escape  this  alternative  is  to 
provide  for  the  students  a  physical,  intellectual, 
and  social  life  which  shall  be  not  merely  what  the 
mature,  deeorous  judgment  of  their  elders  declares 
it  ought  to  be,  but,  first  of  all,  what  the  students 
earnestly  and  enthusiastically  and  freely  make  for 
themselves  and  cherish  as  their  own.  The  question 
of  athletics  is  not  the  question  of  whether  this  or 
that  particular  form  of  exercise  is  intrinsically  good 
or  bad,  nor  how  it  will  affect  the  symmetry  of  the 
body  as  expressed  on  the  anthropometric  chart ;  the 


300  THE   SIX   PARTNERS 

question  of  the  elective  system  is  not  the  question 
whether  a  student  will  always  choose  a  wiser  course 
than  a  professor  could  mark  out  for  him  ;  the  ques- 
tion of  chapter  houses,  society  halls,  and  univer- 
sity clubs  is  not  the  question  whether  these  things 
are  more  expensive  or  clannish  than  accommoda- 
tions which  the  college  authorities  could  provide  in 
dormitories  and  commons.  All  these  questions  are 
mere  phases  of  the  deeper  question  whether  the 
college  shall  hold  its  students  in  a  state  of  tu- 
telage as  a  benevolent  empire  rules  its  conquered 
provinces,  or  whether  it  shall  give  to  them  the 
largest  liberty  in  the  conduct  of  their  personal  af- 
fairs which  is  consistent  with  their  reasonable  pro- 
gress in  the  studies  they  come  to  the  institution  to 
pursue,  just  as  a  republic  grants  to  its  constituent 
States  the  largest  measure  of  local  self-government 
that  is  consistent  with  the  efficiency  and  dignity  of 
the  nation. 

The  sixth  and  final  partner  in  a  college  is  its 
constituency.  This  is  a  broad  term,  including  the 
students  and  the  homes  from  which  they  come,  the 
geographical  area  from  which  the  students  are 
largely  drawn,  the  social  class  or  denominational 
body  with  which  the  institution  is  most  closely 
allied,  and,  above  all,  the  alumni  of  the  institu- 
tion, who  bear  its  name,  and  whose  affections  and 
interests  are  bound  up  with  its  reputation  and  wel- 
fare.  The  rights  of  this  sixth  partner  have  already 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      301 

been  partially  indicated  in  setting  forth  the  duty 
of  the  professor  to  respect  them.  One  of  the  chief 
duties  of  the  constituency  is  to  keep  the  institution 
abreast  of  the  times.  The  other  partners  incline  to 
conservatism.  Founders  and  donors  die.  Founda- 
tions and  charters  remain  unchanged.  The  State  is 
conservative  alike  by  instinct  and  necessity.  Trus- 
tees grow  old,  become  absorbed  in  other  interests, 
and  unconsciously  think  of  an  institution's  needs 
in  terms  of  their  own  experience  of  forty  years 
ago.  The  faculty  is  always  divided  into  two  camps. 
One  type  of  professor  is  content  to  give  the  same 
lectures,  read  the  same  passages,  and  teach  the 
same  subjects  in  the  same  way  in  which  he  fell  into 
teaching  them  within  the  first  five  years  of  his  pro- 
fessional life.  The  professor  of  this  type  can  make 
a  professor's  chair  the  easiest  and  softest  sinecure 
to  be  found  in  the  whole  range  of  salaried  positions. 
Another  type  of  professor  is  always  living  on  the 
frontiers  of  investigation  and  research,  pushing  for- 
ward the  boundaries  of  the  known,  and  penetrating 
into  the  confines  of  the  unknown  beyond.  This  type 
of  professor  probably  does  more  and  harder  work 
for  the  money  he  receives  than  any  class  of  men 
in  the  whole  economic  world.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
constituency  of  an  institution  to  watch  those  subtle 
tendencies  that  bring  institutions  into  decrepitude 
and  premature  decay,  to  give  their  cordial  appre- 
ciation and  approval  to  every  effort  to  push  the 


302  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

institution  to  the  front,  to  insist  that  dead  wood 
shall  be  mercilessly  cut  out,  that  new  methods 
shall  be  adopted,  new  equipment  secured,  new 
policies  attempted  as  soon  as  educational  progress 
elsewhere,  or  the  consensus  of  educational  opinion, 
demands  them.  The  students  are  always  a  great 
help  in  this  matter,  though,  as  has  been  previously 
indicated,  their  help  is  often  rendered  in  rude  and 
brutal  ways.  The  alumni,  especially  the  young 
alumni,  can  render  their  alma  mater  the  greatest 
service  at  this  point.  They  should  compare  the 
courses  of  study  in  their  institution  with  the  best 
courses  that  are  offered  elsewhere.  They  should 
watch  with  jealous  interest  every  new  election  and 
appointment,  and  know  precisely  what  the  election 
or  the  appointment  means  ;  whether  it  is  on  the 
side  of  retrogression  or  progress,  whether  it  means 
improvement  or  decline. 

The  increasing  representation  of  the  alumni  on 
boards  of  government  in  our  universities  and  col- 
leges is  a  most  healthy  and  wholesome  sign,  though, 
of  course,  it  needs  to  be  guarded.  The  selection  of 
alumni  representatives  should  be  made  after  care- 
ful and  deliberate  canvass,  and  full  discussions  of 
the  qualifications  and  policies  of  candidates.  No 
more  intelligent  and  devoted  service  can  be  found 
than  that  which  is  freely  and  generously  rendered 
by  the  representatives  of  the  alumni  of  our  col- 
leges and  universities.  It  is  for  the  alumni,  and  the 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION      303 

friends  whom  they  can  interest,  to  supply  our  in- 
stitutions of  learning  with  the  material  equipment 
which  they  need,  and  with  the  productive  funds  for 
their  adequate  maintenance.  Most  enthusiastically 
and  generously  this  work  is  being  done.  There  is 
no  more  hopeful  feature  of  American  life  to-day 
than  the  generosity  with  which  the  alumni  and 
friends  of  our  colleges  rally  to  their  support  in  time 
of  need.  Magnificent  buildings,  splendid  equip- 
ments, munificent  endowments  are  being  given  to 
these  institutions  every  year,  partly  by  men  who 
have  gained  their  own  education  from  them  and 
gladly  repay  the  debt  they  owe,  and  partly  by  men 
who  have  appreciated  the  worth  of  education 
through  their  own  privation  of  it  and  generously 
desire  to  give  to  others  what  they  have  personally 
known  only  through  the  sense  of  loss. 

Academic  freedom  is  not  the  simple  question  of 
whether  a  professor  teaches  or  refrains  from  teach- 
ing this  or  that.  As  Plato  says  of  justice,  that  it 
is  the  harmonious  working  of  the  several  constitu- 
ent elements,  whether  in  the  State  or  in  the  indi- 
vidual, so  academic  freedom  is  the  harmonious 
working  of  the  six  constituent  elements  of  the  uni- 
versity. An  institution  is  enslaved  when  any  one 
of  these  parties  encroaches  on  the  rights  of  others. 
Its  slavery  may  come  from  either  of  the  six  sources, 
—  meddlesome  founders  and  dictatorial  donors  ;  a 
State  that  is  either  too  lax  or  too  severe  in  its 


304  THE  SIX  PARTNERS 

supervision;  a  president  and  trustees  who  are 
either  arbitrary  and  partial,  or  negligent  and  in- 
competent ;  professors  who  regard  their  mission  of 
agitation  in  behalf  of  their  own  peculiar  views  as 
prior  to  their  obligation  to  the  interests  of  the  in- 
stitution and  the  proportions  of  truth ;  obstreper- 
ous and  lawless  students;  and,  lastly,  indifferent 
and  easy-going  alumni,  who  forget  the  duty  they 
owe  to  their  alma  mater,  and  permit  her,  without 
protest,  to  lapse  into  fossilization. 

A  free  institution,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one 
founded  and  maintained  by  benefactors  who  add 
to  their  gifts  the  greatest  gift  of  all,  a  modest  self- 
abnegation  which  recognizes  that  truth  is  larger 
than  their  private  vision,  and  refuses  to  place  per- 
sonal preference  above  expert  judgment ;  fostered 
by  a  State  which  is  jealous  for  its  efficiency ;  ad- 
ministered by  trustees  who  are  as  single-minded  in 
the  selection  of  the  best  men  for  its  chairs  of  instruc- 
tion as  they  are  for  the  most  safe  and  profitable 
investment  of  their  funds,  and  by  a  president  who 
has  sufficient  authority  to  select  whatever  men  and 
adopt  whatever  measures  he  finds  essential  to  the 
maintenance  of  a  consistent  educational  policy; 
manned  by  professors  who  love  the  truth  and  the 
institution  and  the  students  first,  and  themselves 
and  their  private  fads  last ;  frequented  by  students 
who  are  intensely  interested  in  intellectual,  social, 
and  athletic  pursuits  of  their  own  selection  and 


IN  COLLEGE  ADMINISTRATION       305 

creation ;  watched  over  by  an  alert  body  of  alumni 
and  a  vigilant  public,  ever  insisting  that  what  has 
proved  good  elsewhere  shall  be  instantly  adopted, 
and  that  their  own  institution  shall  take  its  fair 
share  of  the  risks  of  such  educational  experiments 
as  are  essential  to  educational  advance. 


I 


XV 

The  College^ 

THE  best  approach  to  a  definition  of  the  col- 
lege is  by  closing  in  upon  it  from  the  two 
sides  of  the  institutions  between  which  it  stands, 
the  school  and  the  university.)  And  as  in  the  mari- 
ner's compass  not  only  is  there  a  northeast  be- 
tween north  and  east,  but  several  intervening 
points,  so  we  shall  find  between  the  school  and 
the  college,  a  school-coUege,  and  between  the  uni- 
versity and  the  coUege,  a  university-coUege,  which 
for  our  more  accurate  purposes  we  shall  have  to 
take  into  account.  Before  defining  the  college,  let 
us  define  in  order  the  school,  the  university,  the 
school-college,  and  the  university-college. 

The  school  imposes  the  symbols  of  communica- 
tion, together  with  the  rudiments  of  science,  litera- 
ture, and  art,  on  the  more  or  less  unwilling  child. 
I  know  the  words  "  impose  "  and  "  unwilling  "  sound 
hard  and  harsh,  and  will  evoke  a  protest  from  the 
advocates  of  the  sugar-coated  education.  But  with 
all  due  respect  for  what  kindergarten  devices,  child- 

^  Paper  read  before  the  International  Congress  of  Arts  and 
Science,  Department  23,  Section  C  (the  college),  at  the  Louisiana 
Purchase  Exposition  at  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  September  19-24,  1904. 


THE  COLLEGE  307 

study,  and  pedagogical  pre-digestion  can  do  to  make 
learning  attractive,  the  school  must  be  essentially 
a  grind  on  facts  and  principles  the  full  significance 
of  which  the  child  cannot  appreciate,  and  which 
consequently  must  appear  hard,  dry,  and  dull.  The 
world  is  so  big  and  complex,  the  mind  of  the  child 
is  so  small  and  simple,  that  the  process  of  the  ap- 
plication of  the  one  to  the  other  can  scarcely  be 
effective  without  considerable  pain.  Consequently, 
in  the  school  there  must  be  rigid  discipline,  judi- 
cious appeal  to  extraneous  motives,  and  a  firm 
background  of  unquestioned  authority.  I  appreci- 
ate most  highly  all  that  has  been  done  in  the  ways 
above  referred  to  in  the  direction  of  mollifying  this 
discipline.  But  in  a  brief  definition  of  a  great  in- 
stitution,  the  essential,  not  the  accidental  elements, 
the  enduring  features,  not  the  latest  phases  of  it, 
must  be  emphasized. 

AThe  university,  including  in  that  comprehensive 
term  graduate,  professional,  and  technical  training, 
is  the  exact  opposite  of  the  school.  The  school 
brings  together  the  large  world  and  the  child's 
small  mind,  involving  the  pain  of  mental  stretch- 
ing to  take  in  materials  of  which  there  is  no  con- 
scious want.  The  university  presupposes  the  en- 
larged mind,  which  it  applies  to  some  small  section 
of  truth,  such  as  law,  medicine,  architecture,  engi- 
neering, dentistry,  forestry,  Latin,  history,  astro- 
nomy, or  chemistry^  This,  too,  is  a  somewhat  painful 


308  THE  COLLEGE 

process,  but  its  pains  are  of  the  opposite  nature, 
due  to  confining  the  enlarged  mind,  full  of  varied 
human  interests,  to  the  minute  details  of  a  narrow 
specialty.  Of  discipline  the  university  has  prac- 
tically nothing.  It  requires  only  intellectual  re- 
sults. Such  moral  and  spiritual  influences  as  it 
affords  are  offered  as  opportunities  rather  than 
imposed  as  requirements.  Its  atmosphere  is  abso- 
lutely free.  Its  professors  are  specialists.  Its  stu- 
dents are  supposed  to  be  men. 

Having  briefly  defined  the  two  institutions  on 
either  side,  it  might  seem  the  proper  time  to  pre- 
sent the  definition  of  the  college.  But  on  both 
sides  intermediary  types  have  been  evolved,  which 
must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  the  college 
proper,  —  the  school-college  and  the  university- 
college. 

The  school-college  admits  its  students  poorly 
prepared,  and  gives  them  in  the  school-coUege  the 
work  they  ought  to  have  done  in  the  school.  Its 
professors  are  schoolmasters,  teaching  several  sub- 
jects, mainly  by  the  school  method  of  recitation 
from  the  book  or  repetition  of  dictated  lectures. 
Laboratory  work  is  confined  chiefly  to  prearranged 
illustrative  material.  The  conduct  of  the  students 
is  minutely  supervised  by  the  faculty.  Little  or 
nothing  inside  or  outside  of  the  recitation  rooms  is 
left  to  the  initiative  of  the  students.  A  considerable 
proportion  of  the  so-called  colleges  of  the  United 


THE  COLLEGE  309 

States  are  of  this  school-college  type.  They  are 
inexpensive,  and  curiously  enough  the  less  en- 
dowment they  have,  the  less  it  costs  to  attend 
them.  Their  graduates,  unless  by  virtue  of  native 
wit,  hardly  have  the  breadth  and  initiative  neces- 
sary for  leadership  in  commercial,  professional,  and 
public  life. 

By  the  university-college,  I  do  not  mean  neces- 
sarily one  connected  with  a  university.  A  college 
connected  with  a  university  may  be  a  real  college, 
and  a  university-college  may  be  connected  with  no 
university.  Its  distinctive  mark  is  the  application 
to  immature  students  of  methods  of  instruction  and 
discipline  which  are  adapted  only  to  the  mature. 
Its  instruction  is  given  in  large  lecture  courses, 
with  little  or  no  personal  interest  in  his  students 
on  the  part  of  the  lecturer,  or  required  reaction 
on  the  part  of  the  hearer.  This  personal  contact 
is  sometimes  supplied  vicariously  in  the  person  of 
a  graduate  student,  or  recently  fledged  doctor  of 
philosophy,  who  quizzes  fractions  of  the  mass  at 
stated  intervals.  The  information  imparted  is  the 
best  and  most  advanced.  The  fame  of  the  lecturers 
is  unsurpassed.  But  the  appropriation  of  the  mate- 
rial presented  is  largely  optional.  As  the  personal 
element  in  teaching  is  largely  vicarious,  learning  in 
turn  tends  to  become  vicarious  also.  Printed  notes, 
expert  coaches,  improvised  "  seminars,"  reduce  to 
comparatively  few  hours  the  labor  of  those  who 


310  THE  COLLEGE 

register  themselves  as  students.  Affording  splen* 
did  and  unequaled  opportunities  for  the  earnest 
and  studious  few,  these  university-colleges  afford 
the  wealthy  idler  the  elegant  leisure  that  he  craves. 

For  the  great  majority  of  the  students  in  a 
university-college,  even  athletics  becomes  likewise 
vicarious,  the  exertions  of  the  elegant  idler  being 
confined  mainly  to  the  lungs  jind  the  pocketbook. 
In  so  vast  a  body  the  opportunity  for  social  leader- 
ship and  prominence  in  college  affairs  is  confined 
to  the  exceptional  few,  impossible  for  the  average 
many.  The  average  boy  of  eighteen  or  twenty  soon 
drifts  into  the  irresponsibility  of  an  unnoticed  unit 
in  the  preponderating  mass.  Discipline  in  the  uni- 
versity-college becomes  practically  limited  to  the 
requirement  that  the  student  shall  exercise  suffi- 
cient control  over  his  animal  and  social  instincts 
to  maintain  intense  intellectual  activity  for  two 
periods  of  two  or  three  weeks  in  each  coUege  year. 

By  thus  closing  in  upon  the  college  from  both 
sides,  and  marking  off  the  institutions  which  come 
so  close  to  it  that  they  are  often  confounded  with 
it,  we  have  made  the  definition  of  the  real  college 
comparatively  easy.  We  are  now  ready  to  describe 
its  characteristic  marks. 

It  requires  as  a  condition  of  admission  that  the 
work  of  the  school  shall  have  been  thoroughly  done. 
Either  by  examination  before  entering,  or  by  elimi- 
nation at  the  first  opportunity  afterward,  it  strictly 


THE  COLLEGE  311 

limits  its  students  to  those  who  have  had  a  thorough 
school  training.  It  does  this  because  it  is  impossible 
to  give  a  college  education  to  an  untrained  mind. 
It  is  even  more  essential  that  a  student  shall  have 
done  hard  work  before  coming  to  college,  than  that 
he  shall  do  hard  work  while  in  college.  The  previ- 
ously trained  mind  can  get  a  great  deal  out  of  col- 
lege with  comparatively  little  work.  The  mind  that 
has  not  been  previously  well  trained  can  get  very 
little  out  of  college  even  by  hard  work.  This  may 
be  a  stumbling-block  to  the  school  man,  and  fool- 
ishness to  the  university  man ;  but  the  college  man 
knows  that  in  spite  of  these  criticisms  from  below 
and  from  above  an  amount  of  leisure  can  well  be 
afforded  in  college,  which  would  be  fatal  in  either 
academy  or  university.  In  order  to  be  profitable, 
however,  it  must  be  the  leisure  of  a  mind  previously 
subjected  to  prolonged  and  thorough  discipline. 

The  method  of  teaching  in  the  college  is  on  the 
whole  different  from  that  of  either  school  or  uni- 
versity. In  the  school  the  abstract  facts  and  prin- 
ciples, as  laid  down  in  approved  and  authoritative 
books,  are  transmitted  by  the  teacher  to  the  student. 
The  individual  reconstruction  of  those  principles 
and  facts  in  the  mind  of  teacher  and  student,  though 
important,  is  relatively  less  essential.  If  by  gift 
of  genius  you  get  this  element  of  individuality  in 
either  teacher  or  student,  you  are  profoundly  grate- 
ful ;  but  the  school  can,  and  in  a  vast  majority  of 


312  THE   COLLEGE 

cases  must,  get  on  without  the  interpreting  individ- 
uality of  the  teacher  and  the  reconstructive  unifi- 
cation of  the  student.  I  am  speaking  not  of  ideals, 
but  of  facts. 

Now  there  is  room  for  the  schoohnaster  in  the 
college,  but  his  sphere  is  very  limited.  In  formal 
studies  like  mathematics,  and  the  elements  of  such 
languages  as  have  not  been  previously  acquired, 
every  college  ought  to  have  two  or  three  thorough 
drillmasters  on.  its  faculty.  There  is  nothing  about 
a  college  atmosphere  that  can  make  analytical  geo- 
metry easy,  or  the  irregular  French  verb  fascinat- 
ing, or  German  prose  sentences  intelligible  without 
grammar.  Such  school  work  as  our  requirements 
for  admission  permit  to  be  postponed  until  after 
admission  to  college  must  be  done  there  in  the  hard, 
exacting  school  way. 

In  the  university  it  is  the  individuality  of  the 
student  that  counts.  Not  the  facts  in  the  text-book, 
not  the  insight  and  interpretation  of  the  professor, 
but  the  initiative  of  the  individual  student  is  what 
the  university  is  after.  The  college  in  the  more 
advanced  courses  must  introduce  also  a  moderate 
degree  of  this  university  element.  Most  of  our  col- 
leges, by  the  group  system  or  by  the  requirement 
of  major  and  minor  subjects  as  a  condition  of  taking 
the  bachelor's  degree,  insist  that  something  like  a 
fourth  or  a  third  of  a  student's  courses  shall  lead 
up  to  and  culminate  in  such  comparatively  inde- 


THE  COLLEGE  313 

pendent  work.  In  this  way  we  give  every  college 
student  a  taste  of  real  scholarly  work,  and  discover 
the  comparatively  few  who  are  fitted  to  prosecute 
it  to  advantage  in  the  university. 

The  college  professor,  the  type  to  which  the  ma- 
jority of  the  college  faculty  should  belong,  is  very 
different  from  either  the  schoolmaster  or  the  univer- 
sity specialist.  He  is  a  man  who  grasps  his  subject 
as  a  whole,  deals  with  each  aspect  of  it  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  whole,  is  able  to  make  the  subject  as 
a  whole  unfold  from  day  to  day,  and  grow  in  the 
mind  of  the  student  into  the  same  splendid  propor- 
tions that  it  has  assumed  in  his  own,  and  who 
can  put  it  to  the  test  of  practical  application  in 
matters  of  current  interest.  If  he  is  a  chemist,  he 
is  able  to  give  expert  testimony  in  court.  If  a  geol- 
ogist, he  is  able  to  take  part  in  government  surveys, 
or  lead  in  exploration.  If  an  economist,  he  is  able 
to  contribute  something  to  the  settlement  of  labor 
troubles.  If  a  historian  or  professor  of  government, 
he  must  be  able  to  bring  ancient  precedent  and  re- 
mote experience  to  bear  on  current  complications. 
If  a  professor  of  the  classics,  he  must  love  the  mas- 
ters of  English  prose  and  verse  all  the  better  for  his 
familiarity  with  the  ancient  models,  and  show  how 
much  more  the  modern  things  mean  when  thrown 
on  the  ancient  background.  College  students  de- 
spise a  professor  who  is  so  lost  in  his  subject  that 
he  cannot  get  out  of  it,  prove  its  worth  by  some 


314  THE   COLLEGE 

concrete  application,  and  make  life  as  a  whole  the 
larger  and  richer  by  the  contribution  he  makes  from 
his  special  department.  He  must  be  human,  in- 
tensely interested  in  individuals,  eager  to  see  his 
favorite  authors,  his  beloved  pursuits  kindle  into 
enthusiasm  the  minds  he  introduces  to  them.  The 
college  professor  must  know  his  subject ;  he  must 
be  a  competent  investigator  in  it,  and  a  thorough 
master  of  it.  If  as  a  badge  of  such  mastery  and  apt- 
itude for  investigation  he  has  the  degree  of  Ph.  D., 
all  the  better.  But  this  is  not  essential.  He  must 
know  men,  and  the  large  movements  and  interests 
of  the  world  outside.  He  must  present  his  subject, 
lit  up  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  great  personality, 
an  enthusiasm  so  contagious  that  the  students  can- 
not help  catching  it  from  him,  and  regarding  his 
subject  for  the  time  being  as  the  most  compelling 
interest  in  life.  He  must  be  genial,  meeting  stu- 
dents in  informal,  friendly  ways  outside  of  lecture 
rooms,  either  in  general  social  intercourse  or  in  little 
clubs  for  the  prosecution  of  interests  related  to  his 
subject.  He  must  have  high  standards  of  personal 
character  and  conduct,  and  broad  charity  for  those 
who  fall  below  them.  In  short,  he  must  be  first  of 
all  a  man  whom  young  men  respect,  admire,  and 
imitate,  and  love ;  and  then  in  addition  he  must 
know  the  subject  he  professes  in  the  broad,  vital, 
practical,  contagious  way  described  above. 

The  course  of  study  in  a  college  covers  in  a  broad 


THE  COLLEGE  316 

way  the  main  departments  of  language  and  litera- 
ture, science  and  art,  history,  economics,  and  philo- 
sophy. At  least  four  languages  besides  English : 
Latin,  Greek,  French,  and  German  ;  mathematics ; 
at  least  four  sciences  :  physics,  chemistry,  biology, 
and  geology  or  astronomy  ;  history  both  ancient  and 
modern,  both  American  and  European  ;  both  ortho- 
dox economic  theory  and  current  economic  heresy, 
together  with  special  study  of  such  subjects  as  bank- 
ing, taxation,  transportation,  trust  and  labor  prob- 
lems ;  the  principles  and  problems  of  government, 
both  national  and  municipal;  literature  studied 
as  literature,  and  not  merely  the  corpse  of  it  in 
the  shroud  of  grammar  and  the  coffin  of  philology; 
philosophy,  or  the  attempted  answer  to  the  per- 
petual problems  of  ontology,  cosmology,  conduct, 
and  human  aspiration ;  enough  of  fine  art  to  make 
one  at  home  in  the  great  buildings  and  galleries  of 
the  world  —  these  are  the  essentials  of  the  college 
curriculum. 

Each  of  the  leading  subjects  should  be  presented 
in  at  least  three  consecutive  courses  extending  over 
a  year  each,  —  one  elementary ;  one  or  more  broad, 
general,  interesting,  practical ;  at  least  one  specific, 
intensive,  involving  research,  initiative,  and  a  chance 
for  originality.  These  broad  middle  courses  are  the 
distinctive  feature  of  the  college,  and  they  are  the 
hardest  to  get  well  taught.  For  one  man  who  can 
teach  a  college  course  of  this  nature  well,  you  can 


316  THE  COLLEGE 

find  ten  who  can  teach  a  university  specialty,  and  a 
hundred  who  can  teach  the  elementary  school  course. 
But  if  you  dare  to  leave  out  these  broad,  compre- 
hensive college  courses,  or  if  you  fail  to  get  men 
who  are  broad  and  human  enough  to  teach  them, 
you  miss  the  distinctively  college  teaching  alto- 
gether ;  you  have  in  place  of  the  college  one  or  an- 
other of  the  four  institutions  previously  described. 

These  real  coUege  professors,  —  these  men  who 
can  make  truth  kindle  and  glow  through  the  dead, 
cold  facts  of  science,  who  can  reveal  the  throbbing 
heart  of  humanity  through  either  ancient  or  modem 
words,  who  can  communicate  the  shock  of  clashing 
wiUs  and  the  struggle  of  elemental  forces  through 
historic  periods  and  economic  schedules,  who  can 
make  philosophy  the  revelation  of  God,  and  ethics 
the  gateway  of  heaven,  —  these  men  are  hard  to 
find,  infinitely  harder  to  find  than  schoolmasters 
on  the  one  hand  and  specialists  on  the  other.  Yet 
imless  you  can  get  together  at  least  half  a  dozen 
men  of  this  type,  you  must  not  pretend  to  call  your 
aggregation  of  professors  a  college  faculty;  you 
cannot  give  your  students  the  distinctive  value  of 
a  college  course. 

The  discipline  of  a  college  is  different  from  that 
of  either  a  school  or  a  university.  The  true  college 
maintains  a  firm  authority,  and  will  close  its  doors 
rather  than  yield  any  essential  point  of  moral 
character  or  intellectual  efficiency  to  student  clamor 


THE  COLLEGE  317 

and  caprice.  Yet  this  authority  is  kept  well  in  the 
background,  delegated  perhaps  to  some  form  of 
student  government,  and  is  used  only  as  a  last 
resort  when  all  the  arts  of  persuasion  and  all  the 
influences  of  reason  fail.  Not  more  than  once  or 
twice  in  a  college  generation  of  four  years  will  it 
be  necessary  to  draw  the  lines  sharply,  and  fight 
out  some  carefully  chosen  issue  on  grounds  of  sheer 
authority. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  college  has  much  of  the 
liberty  of  the  university ;  yet  in  such  wise  that  it 
cannot  be  perverted  into  license  to  do  whatever 
may  seem  for  the  time  being  right  in  the  eyes  of 
immature  and  inexperienced  youth.  Spies  and 
threats,  and  petty  artificial  penalties,  are  as  foreign 
to  a  true  college  as  to  a  university.  Yet  the  college 
does  make  the  way  of  the  transgressor  hard,  much 
harder  than  the  university  ever  attempts  to  do. 

What,  then,  is  the  secret,  what  is  the  method 
of  true  college  discipline,  which  avoids  both  these 
extremes,  yet  secures  the  advantages  at  which  both 
school  and  university  aim  ?  It  is  personal  friend- 
liness, intelligent  sympathy,  appealing  to  what  is 
best  in  the  heart  of  the  college  student.  By  inti- 
mate appreciation  of  all  worthy  student  interests, 
ambitions,  and  enthusiasms,  the  college  officer  comes 
to  understand  by  way  of  contrast  wliatever  is  base, 
corrupt,  and  wanton  in  the  life  of  the  little  com- 
munity, and  to  know  by  intuition  the  m'en  who 


818  THE  COLLEGE 

are  caught  in  tlie  toils  of  these  temptations.  Any 
competent  college  officer  can  give  you,  if  not  off- 
hand, certainly  after  a  half-hour's  consultation,  an 
accurate  account  of  the  character  of  any  student  in 
his  institution ;  his  haunts,  his  habits,  his  companions, 
his  ways  of  spending  time  and  money,  and  all  that 
these  involve.  Where  it  seems  to  be  needed,  either 
some  professor  or  the  president  has  a  friendly  con- 
ference with  the  student,  —  bringing  him  face  to 
face  with  the  facts  and  their  natural  consequences, 
but  making  no  threats,  imposing  no  penalties, 
simply  calling  the  student's  attention  to  principles 
with  which  he  is  already  perfectly  familiar,  and 
offering  him  whatever  help  and  encouragement 
toward  amendment  friendly  interest  and  sympa- 
thy can  give.  Usually  the  whole  matter  is  strictly 
confidential  between  officer  and  student;  though 
when  this  proves  inadequate  the  aid  of  students 
likely  to  have  influence  is  secured,  and  in  extreme 
cases  the  cooperation  of  parents  and  friends  at 
home  is  invoked.  Information  that  is  directly  or 
indirectly  acquired  through  this  close  sympathy 
with  student  life  is  never  made  the  basis  of  any 
formal  discipline  whatever.  A  student  may  persist 
in  evil  ways,  and  be  known  to  persist  in  them,  and 
be  treated  by  the  college  in  no  other  way  than  he 
would  be  treated  in  similar  circumstances  by  his 
father  and  mother  at  home.  If  he  performs  his 
work  and  avoids  scandal,  he  may  go  on  and  gradu- 


THE  COLLEGE  319 

ate,  precisely  as  lie  might  continue  to  live  under 
his  father's  roof.  If  his  evil  courses  lead  to  fail- 
ure in  his  work,  or  if  they  bring  scandal  upon  the 
college  through  overt  acts  or  obviously  injurioufc, 
influence,  then  he  is  asked  to  withdraw. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  the  spirit  of  coUege  discipline. 
It  fits  neither  the  immature  nor  the  mature,  but 
youth  who  are  passing  from  immaturity  into  ma- 
turity. It  appeals  to  the  highest  and  best  motives, 
and  scorns  to  deal  with  any  others.  It  brings  to 
bear  the  strongest  personal  influences  it  can  sum- 
mon, but  deigns  to  use  no  others.  It  sometimes 
fails,  but  is  usually  in  the  long  run  successful.  It 
presupposes  absolute  sincerity,  perfect  frankness, 
endless  patience,  infinite  kindliness  on  the  part  of 
the  college  officer.  It  is  sure  to  be  misunderstood 
by  the  general  public.  It  takes  the  average  student 
about  half  his  college  course  to  come  to  an  under- 
standing of  it.  It  lays  those  who  employ  it  open 
to  the  charge  of  all  manner  of  partiality,  weakness, 
inefficiency,  from  those  who  look  at  the  outside 
facts  and  do  not  comprehend  the  inner  spirit.  But 
it  is  the  only  discipline  that  fits  the  college  stage  of 
development ;  it  does  its  work  on  the  whole  effec- 
tively ;  it  turns  out  as  a  rule  loyal  alumni,  moral 
citizens.  Christian  men. 

In  its  religious  life  the  coUege  should  be  as  little 
as  possible  denominational.  The  narrowness  of  sec- 
tarianism and  the  breadth  of  the  college  outlook  are 


320  THE  COLLEGE 

utterly  incompatible.  Denominations  may  lay  the 
eggs  of  colleges ;  indeed,  most  of  our  colleges  owe 
their  inception  to  such  denominational  zeal.  But 
as  soon  as  the  college  develops  strength,  it  passes 
inevitably  beyond  mere  denominational  control. 
Church  schools  are  often  conspicuous  successes. 
Church  colleges  are  usually  conspicuous  failures. 
A  church  university  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

It  is  equally  necessary  that  the  coUege  should 
be  intensely  Christian.  The  administrative  officer 
should  believe  in  the  power  of  the  best  motives 
over  the  worst  men  and  the  application  of  great 
principles  to  little  things.  He  should  know  that 
persons  are  more  than  the  acts  that  they  do.  He 
should  believe  what  most  people  practically  deny, 
—  that  a  sinner  can  be  saved ;  and  that  he  is  worth 
saving.  It  is  only  on  such  a  profoundly  Christian 
basis  that  a  coUege  can  be  successfully  conducted. 
A  college  which  is  not  Christian  is  no  college  at 
all.  For  the  faithful,  hopeful,  loving  treatment  of 
persons  as  free  beings  of  boundless  capacity  and 
infinite  worth  is  at  once  the  essence  of  Christianity 
and  the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  true  college. 

Christianity  in  the  college,  as  everywhere  else 
in  the  world,  presents  the  two  aspects  which  Jesus 
contrasted  in  the  parable  of  the  two  sons  whom 
the  father  asked  to  work  in  his  vineyard.  There 
is  the  conscious,  professed,  organized  Christianity, 
which  joins  the  church  and  the  association,  attends 


THE  COLLEGE  321 

and  takes  part  in  meetings,  and  casts  about  to  find 
or  invent  ways  to  make  both  the  world  and  one's 
self  better  than  they  otherwise  would  be.  Some- 
times, unfortunately,  the  Christian  of  this  type 
neglects  that  devotion  of  himself  to  such  forms  of 
good  as  are  already  established,  —  the  intellectual 
tasks,  the  athletic  interests,  the  social  life  of  the 
institution.  In  that  case  the  result  is  that,  good  as 
it  means  to  be,  good  as  in  many  respects  it  is,  this 
type  of  Christianity  fails  to  be  appreciated  by  the 
majority  of  the  students ;  the  leadership  of  all 
forms  of  college  life  passes  into  other  hands,  and 
this  avowed,  expressed,  organized  Christianity  lives 
at  a  poor  dying  rate,  by  faculty  assistance  and 
student  toleration.  People  who  forget  the  lesson  of 
the  parable  that  there  are  two  types  of  Christianity, 
and  confound  this  type  with  the  whole  of  Christian- 
ity, sometimes  take  a  very  discouraged  view  of  the 
condition  of  Christianity  in  our  colleges. 

What,  then,  is  the  other,  the  relatively  uncon- 
scious, unprofessing  type?  Who  is  the  Christian 
who,  as  Jesus  says,  in  the  judgment  day  will  be 
surprised  to  find  that  he  was  a  Christian  at  all? 
He  is  the  man  who  lives  for  something  bigger  and 
better,  loses  himself  in  something  wider  and  higher 
than  himself.  He  does  his  work  with  a  sense  of 
responsibility  for  the  honest  improvement  of  his 
powers  and  opportunities,  or,  better  still,  with  de- 
votion to  some  aspect  of  scientific  truth  or  human 


322  THE  COLLEGE 

welfare  that  has  gotten  hold  of  him.  He  enters 
heartily  into  the  sports  and  enthusiasms  of  his 
fellows,  sacrificing  comfort  and  convenience  to  the 
promotion  of  these  common  ends.  He  shares  his 
time  and  property  with  his  friends,  and  supports 
generously  their  common  undertakings.  He  stands 
up  for  what  is  right,- yet  always  has  a  helping  hand 
for  the  fellow  who  has  fallen  down.  He  looks 
forward  to  life  as  a  sphere  where  he  is  going  to 
serve  public  interests  and  promote  social  welfare, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  supports  himself  and  his 
family. 

Now,  if  this  is  Christianity,  if  the  cultivation  of 
these  traits  and  aims  is  growth  in  Christian  char- 
acter, then  our  colleges  are  mighty  agencies  for  the 
spread  of  Christianity.  No  man  can  go  through 
one  of  them,  and  catch  its  spirit,  without  becoming 
a  better  Christian  for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

Of  course  it  is  higlily  desirable  that  these  two 
types  of  Christianity  should  understand  and  ap- 
preciate each  other.  Especially  fortunate  is  the 
college  where  these  two  types  coincide,  where  the 
most  prominent  members  of  church  and  association 
are  at  the  same  time  the  best  fellows,  and  where 
the  best  fellows  give  their  influence  and  support 
as  officers  and  workers  in  distinctively  Christian 
organizations.  In  some  men's  colleges,  and  in  most 
women's  colleges,  this  is  happily  the  case.  If,  how- 
ever, we  can  have  but  one  of  the  two  types,  as 


THE  COLLEGE  323 

often  happens,  we  must  agree  with  Jesus  that  good 
work  and  good  fellowship  on  a  basis  unconsciously 
Christian  are  better  than  a  conscious  profession 
which  remains  self-centred  and  self-satisfied,  out- 
side the  more  genial  and  generous  current  of  the 
life  of  the  community.  \ 

The  last  feature  of  the  college,  but  by  no  means 
the  least  significant,  is  this  genial,  generous,  social 
life.  Even  if  nothing  were  learned  save  by  absorp- 
tion through  the  pores,  the  intimate  association 
with  picked  men  of  trained  minds  for  the  most  im- 
pressionable years  of  one's  life  would  almost  be 
worth  while.  To  take  one's  place  in  such  a  com- 
munity, to  bear  one's  share  in  its  common  in- 
terests and  common  endeavor,  to  take  the  social 
consequences  of  one's  attitude  and  actions  in  a 
community  which  sees  clearly  and  speaks  frankly, 
rewards  generously  and  punishes  unmercifully,  is 
the  best  school  of  character  and  conduct  ever  yet 
devised. 

This  is  the  leading  consideration  in  determining 
the  desirable  size  of  a  college.  As  Plato  says  of 
the  state  we  may  say  of  the  college,  it  should  be 
as  large  as  is  consistent  with  organic  unity.  If 
some  types  of  life  and  character  —  the  rich  or  the 
poor,  the  independent  or  the  conservative,  the  high 
scholar  or  the  good  fellow,  the  athlete  or  the  man 
of  artistic  temperament  —  are  left  out,  then  it  is 
too  small.    If,  on  the  other  hand,  a  man  can  be  a 


324  THE  COLLEGE 

mere  unit  in  a  mass  toward  which  he  feels  little 
or  no  definite  responsibility,  —  if  his  specific  con- 
tribution is  not  needed  and  his  individual  opinion 
does  not  count,  if  the  games  are  played,  and  the 
papers  are  edited,  and  the  societies  are  managed, 
and  things  generally  are  conducted  by  experts 
whom  he  merely  knows  by  sight  and  reputation, 
—  then  that  college  is  too  large  for  him ;  he  wiU 
probably  come  out  of  it  as  smaU  as  he  went  in. 

For  the  most  enjoyable  and  profitable  social  life 
the  college  community  inevitably  breaks  up  into 
little  groups,  —  fraternities,  musical  associations, 
athletic  teams,  and  clubs  for  scientific,  literary, 
historical,  and  philosophical  study.  Extension  and 
intensity  are  inversely  proportional ;  and  a  man 
who  misses  the  closer  contact  and  warmer  fellow- 
ship of  these  smaller  groups  misses  much  that  is 
most  valuable  in  college  life.  Athletics  are  carried 
to  excess,  as  is  everything  else  in  which  youth 
take  a  leading  part.  But  the  incidental  excesses 
of  a  few  individuals  are  much  more  than  counter- 
balanced by  the  increased  physical  health,  moral 
tone,  and  freedom  from  asceticism  and  effeminacy 
in  the  college  community  as  a  whole.  Cut  off  as 
they  are  from  the  natural  outdoor  tasks  and  sports, 
from  chores  and  workshops,  from  hunting  and  fish- 
ing, from  sailiug  and  riding,  some  artificial  outlet 
for  physical  vigor  is  absolutely  essential.  Some  ob^ 
ject  for  community  enthusiasm,  community  loyalty, 


THE  COLLEGE  325 

and  community  sacrifice  is  equally  a  moral  and 
a  social  necessity.  The  worst  evil  of  athletics  is 
not  the  effort  put  forth  by  the  athletes  themselves, 
but  the  extent  to  which  these  interests  absorb  the 
time  and  conversation,  the  thought  and  aspiration, 
of  both  combatants  and  non-combatants.  Even  this 
evil,  great  as  it  is,  is  small  in  comparison  to  the 
moral  evils  which  would  infest  a  group  of  vigor- 
ous young  men  from  whom  some  such  outlet  was 
withheld. 

The  fraternities  and  societies  likewise  have  slight 
possibilities  of  evil,  but  accomplish  an  overwhelming 
preponderance  of  good.  It  is  through  them,  directly 
or  indirectly,  that  the  most  effective  personal  and 
social  influence  can  be  brought  to  bear  on  those 
who  need  it.  Occasionally  a  fraternity  drops  to  the 
level  of  making  mere  good  fellowship  an  exclusive 
end,  to  which  scholarship,  morality,  efficiency  are 
merely  incidental.  A  college  is  fortunate  which  at 
any  given  time  does  not  have  one  or  two  frater- 
nities that  are  tending  in  this  direction.  But  the 
contempt  of  their  rivals,  the  influence  of  their 
graduates,  the  self-respect  of  the  better  members 
themselves,  together  with  direct  or  indirect  fac- 
ulty remonstrance,  serve  to  bring  a  fraternity  to 
its  senses  in  a  quarter  of  the  time  it  would  take 
to  straighten  out  an  equal  number  of  isolated  indi- 
viduals. Isolated  good  and  isolated  evil  are  more 
nearly  on  an  equality.    But  good  influence  can  be 


326  THE  COLLEGE 

organized  and  mobilized  a  hundred  times  as  quickly 
and  effectively  as  evil  influence ;  and  where  the 
moral  forces  in  faculty  and  students  are  alert,  the 
fraternities  serve  as  rallying  points  for  the  concen- 
tration of  the  good  and  the  dispersion  of  the  evil. 

Departmental  clubs,  in  which  one  or  two  mem- 
bers of  the  faculty  meet  informally  with  a  few 
of  the  more  interested  students  for  conference  on 
some  phase  of  their  subject,  are  perhaps  the  con- 
summation of  the  college  spirit.  Modern  methods 
of  instruction,  however,  make  contact  in  the  lab- 
oratory over  experiments  and  in  the  library  in 
research  so  close  that  many  of  the  regular  classes 
assume  more  the  aspect  of  a  club  than  a  class. 
The  newest  and  best  college  libraries  provide  small 
rooms  for  the  use  of  books  by  professors  and 
students  together  in  each  literary  and  historical 
department,  and  regard  such  rooms  quite  as  indis- 
pensable as  the  room  where  books  are  stored. 

There  is  one  serious  danger,  and  only  one,  that 
besets  the  college.  The  ordinary  objections,  hazing, 
excessive  athletics,  dissipation,  lawlessness,  idleness, 
are  due  either  to  exaggeration  of  exceptional  cases, 
or  the  unwarranted  expectation  that  large  aggre- 
gations of  youth  will  conduct  themselves  with  the 
decorum  that  is  becoming  where  two  or  three  ma- 
ture saints  are  gathered  together  for  conference 
and  prayer.  I  grant  that  a  man  who  cherishes  this 
expectation  will  be  disappointed ;  and  if  he  chances 


THE  COLLEGE  827 

to  be  a  college  officer,  and  undertakes  to  realize 
this  expectation,  he  wiU  be  deservedly  miserable. 
(With  aU  its  incidental  follies  and  excesses,  college 
conduct  is  more  orderly,  college  judgment  is  more 
reasonable,  college  character  is  more  earnest  and 
upright,  than  are  the  judgment,  conduct,  and  char- 
acter of  youth  of  the  same  age  in  factories,  offices, 
and  stores,  or  on  farms  or  on  shipboard.  As  far 
as  these  matters  go,  college  is,  physically,  mentally, 
and  morally,  the  safest  place  in  the  world  for  a 
young  man. 

The  one  serious  danger  is  so  subtle  that  the 
public  has  never  suspected  its  existence ;  and  even 
to  many  a  college  officer  the  statement  of  it  will 
come  as  a  surprise.  It  is  the  danger  of  missing 
that  solitude  which  is  the  soil  of  individuality  and 
the  fertilizer  of  genius.  College  life  is  excessively 
gregarious.  Men  herd  together  so  closely  and  con- 
stantly that  they  are  in  danger  of  becoming  too 
much  alike.  The  pursuit  of  four  or  five  subjects 
at  the  same  time  tends  to  destroy  that  concen- 
tration of  attention  to  one  thing  on  which  great 
achievement  rests.  The  same  feverish  interest  in 
athletics,  the  same  level  of  gossip,  the  same  atti- 
tude toward  politics  and  religion  tend  to  pass  by 
contagion  from  the  mass  to  the  individual,  and 
supersede  independent  reflection.  The  attractive- 
ness and  charm  of  this  intense  life  of  the  college 
group  tends  to  become  an  end  in  itself,  so  that 


328  THE  COLLEGE 

the  very  power  which  wholesomely  takes  the  stu- 
dent out  of  himself  into  the  group,  invites  him  to 
stop  in  the  group  instead  of  going  on  into  those 
intellectual  and  social  interests  which  the  college 
is  supposed  to  serve.  This  devotion  to  college  rar 
ther  than  to  learning,  to  the  fellows  rather  than 
to  humanity,  to  fraternities  and  teams  rather  than 
to  church  and  state,  is  a  real  danger  to  all  stu- 
dents, and  a  very  serious  danger  to  the  exceptional 
individuals  who  have  the  spark  of  originality  hid- 
den within  their  souls^  The  same  forces  that  ex- 
pand small,  and  even  average,  men  may  tend  to 
repress  and  stunt  these  souls  of  larger  endowment. 
To  guard  against  this  —  to  make  sure  that  the 
man  of  latent  genius  is  protected  against  this  dead- 
ening influence  of  social  compulsion  toward  me- 
diocrity—  is  one  of  the  great  duties  of  the  wise 
college  professor.  He  must  show  the  student  of 
unusual  gifts  that  he  is  appreciated  and  under- 
stood, and  encourage  him  to  live  in  the  college 
atmosphere  as  one  who  is  at  the  same  time  apart 
from  it  and  above  it.  The  formation  of  little  groups, 
temporary  or  permanent,  among  the  more  earnest 
students  for  mutual  recognition  and  support,  groups 
which  actually  do  for  a  student  while  in  college 
what  Phi  Beta  Kappa  attempts  to  do  in  a  merely 
formal  and  honorary  way  afterwards,  may  help 
these  choice  minds  to  stem  this  tide  of  gregarious 
mediocrity.  Wherever  the  faculty  is  alert  to  detect 


THE  COLLEGE  329 

its  presence,  even  genius  can  thrive  and  flourish  in 
a  college  atmosphere. 

Such  is  the  college.  It  is  an  institution  where 
young  men  and  young  women  study  great  sub- 
jects, under  broad  teachers,  in  a  liberty  which  is 
not  license  and  a  leisure  which  is  not  idleness, 
—  with  unselfish  participation  in  a  common  life 
and  intense  devotion  to  minor  groups  within  the 
larger  body  and  special  interests  inside  the  general 
aim ;  conscious  that  they  are  critically  watched  by 
friendly  eyes,  too  kind  ever  to  take  unfair  advan- 
tage of  their  weaknesses  and  errors,  yet  too  keen 
ever  to  be  deceived. 

The  function  of  the  college  follows  so  obviously 
from  the  concept  that  it  requires  but  a  word  to 
draw  the  inference.  It  makes  its  graduates  the 
heirs  of  all  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  the  ages, 
placing,  if  not  within  their  actual  memories,  at 
least  within  the  reach  of  their  developed  powers 
and  trained  methods,  any  great  aspect  of  nature  or 
humanity  they  may  hereafter  wish  to  acquire.  It 
gives  each  one  of  them  a  sense  of  achievement  and 
mastery  in  some  one  subject  of  his  choice,  giving 
him,  in  that  one  department  at  least,  the  impulse 
to  read  its  books  and  study  its  problems  as  long 
as  he  shall  live.  It  places  its  alumnus  on  a  plane 
of  social  equality  with  the  best  people  he  will  ever 
meet,  and  gives  him  a  spirit  of  helpfulness  toward 
the  lowliest  with  whom  he  will  ever  come  in  con- 


330  THE  COLLEGE 

tact.  It  makes  him  the  servant  of  the  state  in  wise 
counsel  and  effective  leadership.  It  gives  to  the 
church  ministers  who  can  do  more  than  turn  the 
cranks  of  ecclesiastical  machinery  and  repeat  ritu- 
alized tradition,  prophets  who  gain  first-hand  con- 
tact with  the  purposes  of  God.  It  prepares  men 
who  will  bring  to  the  study  and  practice  of  law 
ability  to  apply  eternal  principles  and  ancient  pre- 
cedents to  the  latest  phases  of  our  complex  civiliza- 
tion. It  trains  its  graduates  who  practice  medicine 
to  give  each  patient  the  benefit  of  whatever  science 
is  developing  of  healing  efficacy  for  his  particular 
case.  It  trains  men  who  are  to  be  engineers,  bank- 
ers, manufacturers,  merchants,  to  put  the  solidity 
and  integrity  of  natural  law  into  the  structures 
that  they  rear,  the  institutions  they  control,  the 
fabrics  they  produce,  and  the  transactions  they 
direct.  It  trains  men  and  women  who  will  give  to 
domestic  and  social  life  that  unselfishness  and  gen- 
iality which  come  of  having  the  mind  lifted  above 
the  selfish,  the  artificial,  the  petty,  into  sincere  and 
simple  intercourse  with  the  good,  the  true,  and  the 
beautiful. 

IXhe  function  of  the  college,  then,  is  not  mental 
training  on  the  one  hand  nor  specialized  knowledge 
on  the  other.  Incidentally,  it  may  do  these  things 
at  the  beginning  and  at  the  end  of  the  course,  as  a 
completion  of  the  unfinished  work  of  the  school, 
and  a  preparation  for  the  future  pursuits  of  the 


THE  COLLEGE  331 


liberal   / 
great  / 
of  the  I 


university.  The  function  of  the  college  is  libe 
education,  —  the  opening  of  the  mind  to  the 
departments  of  human  interest ;  the  opening 
heart  to  the  great  spiritual  motives  of  unselfishness 
and  social  service ;  the  opening  of  the  will  to  op. 
portunity  for  wise  and  righteous  self-control.  )  Hav- 
ing a  different  task  from  either  school  or  university, 
it  has  developed  a  method  and  spirit,  a  life  and 
leisure,  of  its  own.  Judged  by  school  standards  it 
appears  weak,  indulgent,  superficial.  Judged  by 
university  standards  it  appears  vague,  general,  in- 
definite. Judge  it  by  its  true  standard  as  an  agency 
of  liberal  education,  judge  it  by  its  function  to 
make  men  and  women  who  have  wide  interests, 
generous  aims,  and  high  ideals,  and  it  will  vindi- 
cate itself  as  the  most  efficient  means  yet  devised 
to  take  well-trained  boys  and  girls  from  the  school 
and  send  them  either  on  to  the  university  or  out 
into  life  with  a  breadth  of  intellectual  view  no 
subsequent  specialization  can  ever  take  away ;  a 
strength  of  moral  purpose  the  forces  of  material- 
istic selfishness  can  never  break  down ;  a  passion 
for  social  service  neither  popular  superstition  nor 
political  corruption  can  deflect  from  its  chosen 
path. 


XVI 

Alumni  Ideals 

TO  weigh  material  goods  in  the  scales  of  per- 
sonal values,  and  measure  life  by  the  standard 
of  love;  to  prize  health  as  contagious  happiness, 
wealth  as  potential  service,  reputation  as  latent 
influence,  learning  for  the  light  it  can  shed,  power 
for  the  help  it  can  give,  station  for  the  good  it  can 
do ;  to  choose  in  each  case  what  is  best  on  the 
whole,  and  accept  cheerfully  incidental  evils  in- 
volved ;  to  put  my  whole  self  into  all  that  I  do, 
and  indulge  no  single  desire  at  the  expense  of  my- 
self as  a  whole ;  to  crowd  out  fear  by  devotion  to 
duty,  and  see  present  and  future  as  one;  to  treat 
others  as  I  would  be  treated,  and  myself  as  I  would 
my  best  friend ;  to  lend  no  oil  to  the  foolish,  but 
let  my  light  shine  freely  for  all ;  to  make  no  gain 
by  another's  loss,  and  buy  no  pleasure  with  another's 
pain  ;  to  harbor  no  thought  of  another  which  I 
should  be  un willing  that  other  should  know ;  to  say 
nothing  unkind  to  amuse  myself,  and  nothing  false 
to  please  others ;  to  take  no  pride  in  weaker  men's 
failings,  and  bear  no  malice  toward  those  who  do 
wrong;  to  pity  the  selfish  no  less  than  the  poor, 
the  proud  as  much  as  the  outcast,  and  the  cruel 


ALUMNI  IDEALS  333 

even  more  than  the  oppressed ;  to  worship  God  in 
all  that  is  good  and  true  and  beautiful ;  to  serve 
Christ  wherever  a  sad  heart  can  be  made  happy  or 
a  wrong  will  set  right ;  and  to  recognize  God's 
coming  kingdom  in  every  institution  and  person 
that  helps  men  to  love  one  another. 


ROUTINE  AND  IDEALS 

By  Le  Baron  R.  Briggs,  President  of  Radr 

cliffe  College, 
i6mo,  $i.oo,  neL 

"  Common  sense  enriched  by  culture  de- 
scribes everything  which  Dean,  or,  as  he 
ought  now  to  be  called,  President,  Briggs 
says  or  writes.  The  genius  of  sanity,  sound 
judgment,  and  high  aim  seems  to  preside 
over  his  thought,  and  he  combines  in  an  un- 
usual degree  the  faculty  of  vision  and  the 
power  of  dealing  with  real  things  in  a  real 
way."  —  The  Outlook^  New  York. 

SCHOOL,  COLLEGE,  AND 
CHARACTER 

By  the  Author  of  "  Routine  and  Ideals.** 
i6mo,  $i.oo,  neL 

"  With  the  soundest  good  sense  and  with 
frequent  humorous  flashes,  Dean  Briggs 
takes  students  and  parents  into  his  confi- 
dence, and  shows  them  the  solution  of  col- 
lege problems  from  the  point  of  view,  not 
of  the  'office'  but  of  a  very  clear-think- 
ing, whole-souled  man  in  the  *  office ' " — The 
World's  Work,  New  York. 

|)otis^ton  f^iiiXiXi  Companp,  |)uiilt6i!)er0 

boston  and  new  YORK 


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